


Questing Beast

by Panlock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sibling Incest, ambiguous season four timeline, boys talking about their feelings, boys working it out, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panlock/pseuds/Panlock
Summary: Sam and Dean are forced to summon a questing beast or die. They manage to escape with their lives, but the fallout takes its toll on both of them.Sam cleared his throat, “s’alright.”“It’s not alright. Stop acting like it’s alright!” Dean growled, but managed not to sound like such an asshole this time.“How do you want me to act?” Sam asked incredulously. “Do you want me to be mad at you? Because I’m not.”“Jesus Christ.” The older hunter cursed and was suddenly very thankful they were alone in the middle of nowhere.“Please, Dean. I want…I can’t just act like this didn’t happen.”“What is there to talk about?” Dean snarled and finally rounded on his brother. He looked crazy with wide eyes and a scowl screwing up his mouth.  “I fucking raped you.”





	1. Authors Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EliasPaige....Don't read this lol

Authors Note:

 

I admit, this plot bunny hit me way back and I stopped watching the show sometime around the Leviathan storyline. They killed Bobby, I was so done, BUT I love early SPN to the moon and back. This story came to me mostly because I was SHOCKED no one in the wincest fandom thought to use the questing beast as a plot device. I mean, come on. Maybe someone out there has had the same idea, but I just haven’t found his/her fic…anyway, I decided to contribute.

The timeline is ambiguous. I supposed it’s loosely based in a vague Season Four backdrop, just minus Castiel. This is a case fic I guess, but the technical details are kept to a minimum and the entire questing beast motif is used to further their relationship, so it’s not heavy on the investigative/hunting details.

Lastly, rating and warnings:

 **Rated:** E for explicit sexual content. Do not read if you are under 18 or are uncomfortable with graphic sexual encounters between two men.

 **Warnings:** Sibling incest, fuck or die, graphic dub/con scene, heavy angst, emotional trauma, hurt/comfort, cursing, alcohol use, canon typical violence.

 **Tags:** Incest kink, dirty talk, love confessions, first time, fuck or die, working it out bit by bit, Winchesters talking about their feelings, bit of a slow burn, oral sex, anal sex, ambiguous canon set sometime during season four.

**NOT BETA READ**

If you catch something that wasn’t in the tags/warnings please notify me and I’ll add it.


	2. The Coven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are forced into summoning a demon. They get out alive but struggle in the aftermath, especially Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EliasPaige...don't read this lol

Chapter One: The Coven

Rating: Explicit 

Summary: Sam and Dean are forced into summoning a demon. They get out alive but struggle in the aftermath.

Warnings/Tags: Dub/con, fuck or die, explicit sexual content, heavy angst/self-loathing, emotional trauma

Words: 4795

oXiiXo

 

            Dean refused to look at his brother. It wouldn’t take much to glance over at the brooding figure riding shot gun. Lord knows he’s done it more times than he can count, to tell a joke, to ask a question, to stare worriedly back waiting for Sam to pull a miracle out of nowhere. Now, however, Dean was certain he would vomit if he had to look at his brother. In fact, Dean could hardly blink. His fists were wrapped, white-knuckled around the worn steering wheel. His jaw was squared, clenched so tight it would hurt if he felt anything right now. The music wasn’t playing. 

       Dean’s eyes watered and he tried to breath but ended up coughing up all the things that threatened to choke him— _I’m so sorry, you’re the only good thing in my life, don’t leave, please don’t hate me._ Once he started he couldn’t stop; the outburst was sudden and violent and he had to pull over to keep from swerving.

            “Are you ok?” Sam unfolded his legs and looked like he might lean forward to touch a reassuring hand to his brother’s shoulder, but stopped midair. Their distance was suddenly very apparent and obviously intentional.

            “Am _I_ ok?” Dean croaked through another cough. His face was red and his eyes watered furiously. He might be crying. Finally, with the car in park on the side of the highway, Dean spared a look at the other. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

            Sam swallowed a lump in his throat. He was tired, exhausted. “I’m…I’ll be OK.” His voice was sandpaper rough.

            “Shit, Sam!” Dean looked out the windshield for no reason. The brothers were on a back highway heading east, not looking in the rearview mirror. “You’ll be OK? Just like that?” Dean was shouting. He didn’t know why. Perhaps the anger was finally rising to the surface and now Sam had to deal with that, too. “Fuck!” He shoved the steering wheel as if he could push it away. He slapped the dash angrily like the whole cabin was too small—and suddenly it was. He was too close to Sam. He started to gasp, trying to catch his breath and totally unable. He couldn’t breathe.  

            Blindly, Dean groped the door for the handle and pushed himself out of the car. He tripped as he stumbled out of the impala and scuffed his boots across the chewed up asphalt. It was past sunset and the desert-like climate was rapidly cooling. There were no street lights, just the impalas head beams piercing the night. Dean stumbled back and disappeared into the darkness outside of the cabin, sucking in lung fulls of air and still suffocating.

            Dean sat there for what felt like hours with his head in his hands. The driver’s side door was open, the car was still running, and Sam watched from the passenger’s side. They sat in silence.

            After several agonizing minutes, Sam sighed and leaned over to twist the keys out of the ignition. With the engine killed everything became silent; they were in the middle of nowhere and there were no passing cars. If it had been up to Dean, they might have stayed like that forever, but the youngest hunter made the decision to save them both for the second time that day.  

            Sam stepped out of the impala with the keys in his hand and walked around her wide frame to the trunk. When he met his brother on the driver’s side he had a bottle of whiskey in hand; it was a full bottle and still probably not enough. “Here,” he waved the bottle in front of the other man’s face and sat down a careful distance away, also leaning on the impala’s side.

            Dean didn’t look into his brothers face but he accepted the drink. He was pouring an unhealthy portion down his throat immediately and Sam pretended not to notice Dean’s hand was shaking when he handed the bottle between them.

            The younger hunter didn’t usually drink whiskey, but hell. He knocked a mouthful back and barely grimaced. He figured there was a good chance they would be sleeping here tonight, even if it maybe wasn’t safe. There was no way either of them were getting through tonight without the burn of liquor.

            “Dean,” Sam said through the gentle sound of cicadas crying in the background “We need to deal with this.”

            “Sam,” he warned with a deadly voice and shook his head. Dean couldn’t bring himself to use his brothers nickname. It didn’t seem appropriate. “We are dealing,” he shook the bottle meaningfully.

            Sam frowned, already regretting the whiskey even if it was the closest thing they had to therapy.  “No, we’re getting drunk.” He corrected with a glare, but drank more in turn himself.

            Dean grit his teeth. He knew his brother wanted to _talk,_ they were just avoiding the dreaded T-word. “Ever heard of drink to forget, Sam?” He turned his head to the side. His voice was strained, like he was talking with a busted rib.

            The younger hunter laughed shortly, mirthlessly, “yea. Cause that works.”

            “Fuck,” Dean barked angrily and slid one boot across the ground like he might push himself up and walk away into the dark desert and disappear. “Can you once in your life not be such a chick and fucking drop it?” He deflated after the outburst, looking as if a bad taste was left in his mouth. Sam flinched and his brother must have noticed it because the next second Dean is rubbing his face, bottle forgotten between them. “Sorry I said that."

            Sam cleared his throat, “s’alright.” If that wasn’t a loaded statement…

            “It’s not alright. Stop acting like it’s alright!” Dean growled, but managed not to sound like such an asshole this time.

            “How do you want me to act?” Sam asked incredulously. “Do you want me to be mad at you? Because I’m not.”

            “Jesus Christ.” Dean cursed and was suddenly very thankful they were alone in the middle of nowhere.

            “Please, Dean. I want…I can’t just act like this didn’t happen.” 

            “What is there to talk about?” Dean snarled and finally rounded on his brother. He looked crazy, eyes wide and a deep ugly scowl on his face. When he continued, his voice was wrecked, “I fucking _raped_ you.”

oXiiXo

            “No, I won’t do it.” With a stiff shake of the head Dean squared his shoulders. He looked forward but was careful not to stare at his brother.

            “That’s too bad, Winchester.” The coven leader sucked her teeth and glanced down at Sam as if he was a piece of furniture. “Because if you don’t fuck him I’m not going to have any use for you.”

            Dean stood unyielding like a slate of stone. “Looks like you’re going to have to kill me, sister.”

            Sam thrashed around on the floor where he was bound. His tongue strained against the cloth gag holding it down as he screamed. Dean could imagine what he was trying to shout. _You can’t die, I can’t watch you die—_ but it offered him little comfort.            

            A few of the other coven members, there were six all together, shuffled their feet and looked worried. Three men and three women made up three pairs in this coven. Sam and Dean had been looking into their practices and realized that they were preparing for something big. The brothers figured out what _that_ was a little too late, though.

            “You misunderstand me.” The leader said sternly. This coven was matriarchal and she held all the power in her slender hands. “I will have no use for _either of you_ if you don’t complete this ritual. I don’t think you realize how hard it is to find two suitable candidates for this particular ceremony. I need two witch hunters of same blood to provide union and you’re it.”

            “Save it, Elphaba!” Dean roared and stepped forward despite the guns aimed at his head.

            The high priestess swung her arm out and delivered a vicious pistol whip across Deans’ face. “Enough!” She straightened herself after throwing all her weight into the assault and pressed the barrel into the hunter’s temple. “You’re going to fuck your brother _now_ or I’m going to kill him.” She nodded toward another witch, who pointed his pistol directly at Sam. “And don’t think I won’t.”

            Dean gave one last tormented look at his baby brother. Sam was on all fours, arms bound at the wrist, and nude. A cryptic seal was painted in blood underneath his bare body on the floor. A fine sheen of sweat glazed his skin and his legs were pulled apart. Sam looked at his older brother with wide uncertain eyes; he looked scared. Dean’s stepped forward, heart breaking as he moved. 

            Sam’s shoulders relaxed and dropped slightly when he saw the other hunter come towards him. He could endure anything, anything except losing Dean. He looked at his older brother’s face, trying to communicate understanding and comfort while also seeking that out for himself. Instead, he only saw bleakness in the other man.

           A curtain dropped over Deans eyes. He didn’t know how he could do this without dissociating as much as possible. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He unbuttoned his jeans and rolled the worn denim off his hips. When his pants and boxers were pushed around his knees the witches surrounding the brothers tightened their circle and lit candles.

            “And I thought a stud like you would have no trouble getting it up,” the leader crowed from somewhere behind Dean’s vision. “Looks like you might need a magic blue pill.” She didn’t miss the chance to exaggerate the word _magic._ “Here.” She tossed a bottle of personal lubricant to her hostage. “Get yourself worked up. If one of you don’t have an orgasm the spell won’t work and then we’re back to my original point.” She gave a slanted glance to Sam, gun in hand.

            Dean made no indication that he heard the woman but he popped the cap on the bottle all the same. “Don’t…don’t look Sam, please.” His voice was low and choked off.

            Sam winced and wanted to say so many things, but he couldn’t and Dean was too far removed to hear him anyway _._ Finally, the younger man nodded and turned his head down.

            Wrapping a lube slicked hand around his shaft Dean pumped his flaccid dick slowly. It seemed an impossible feat to wring an erection out of his penis but he kept fisting himself. He tried to think of something comforting, something arousing, something that did not include sodomizing his brother.

            Self-loathing sunk to the bottom of his belly and began to mix with arousal. Dean didn’t think he would ever experience an erection again without feeling this way. He closed his eyes, but he could still see his brother’s face, twisted around his shoulder and looking frightened. “So sorry, Sam.” Dean let out a shaky breath when he was finally hard and was forced to open his eyes again.

            His brother was shaking. Sam’s legs were quivering like a newborn colt and his back was peppered in red blotches. He was breaking out in hives because of nervousness or fear or disgust. Immediately Dean pulled his right hand away from himself and place his sticky palm against Sam’s shivering back. “Sam, I’ll—”

            Sam’s body arched up at the touch and a terrible gagging noise interrupted Deans words. Sam was trying to keep from vomiting, but once he started gagging he couldn’t stop.

            “He’s going to throw up!” Dean moved without permission, pulling up his pants so he could crouch in front of his brother. He quickly fingered the cloth gag to move it out of the way but his hand was slick and he was a little panicked. The six members of the coven pointed their guns with suspicion. “Do you want him to choke on his own vomit? You need us alive!”

            “Do _not_ let him vomit on the seal,” was the only comment from the coven leader. The other members looked alarmed at the hunters’ quick movements.

            With worry in his eyes Dean tore the cloth gag away and ripped off his own shirt. He sat on his haunches in front of Sam holding his shirt ready to catch any bile his brother might throw up. Sam sucked in a lung full of air but kept his face down.

            “Sammy? Sammy are you…” he could not bring himself to ask if he was OK.

            Sam, with his head hanging low between his shoulders, grunted, “no." In the following seconds, his body snapped forward as he threw up in Deans shirt covered hands.

            Dutifully, Dean held the pungent slop in his hands and waited. If the witches were looking for such signs, they would have been able to tell that this was not the first-time Dean had caught his brother’s vomit. The older Winchester had worry and pain painted all over his face. It was evident in his eyes and how he kept his mouth open slightly, like he was preparing to say something comforting. When Dean was sure his younger brother was done vomiting he tossed the soggy t-shirt out of the circle, narrowly missing some ankles on its way out. He found Sam’s discarded shirt on the floor nearby and wiped his brothers face and then his own hands.

           “Dean,” the younger hunter rasped. “I won’t hate you; I won’t leave you; you know that, right?” Sam did not lift his face as he spoke. He hung his head between his arms that were holding him up, pressing his lips into the skin below his shoulder.

           Dean didn’t know what to say.

           “I love you,” Sam said quietly so no one else could hear them. Then, louder, he added, “now, just do it so we can survive this thing.”

           “You should listen to your brother,” Dean heard the leader chime in from behind his view.

           Without saying anything else Dean moved behind his brother once more, this time going down to his knees. His erection was completely gone now but Sam’s words gave him the resolve to go on. Again, Dean applied a handful of lubricant and stoked himself to hardness. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the tightness of his hand and not on the sound of Sam’s shuffling knees. Dean exhaled loudly and finally felt warmth coil in his stomach. His erection was red and angry from all the unwanted attention.

          Dean squirted a palm-full of the lubricant in his hand and reached forward to touch Sam. His movements felt delayed, like he was moving through water. He knew that was the universe telling him this was wrong.

          Sam jerked again when he felt his brother pull him open and smear the liquid over his hole but quickly recovered. He tried to control his breathing and relax his body. He had a pretty good idea of how badly this would hurt.

          Sam hissed when he felt a single fingertip breach him. The sensation was more uncomfortable than painful. Dean stopped his movements and waited, wide eyed and worried, until his brother murmured, “doesn’t hurt. Keep going.”

           Dean pushed in the full length of the digit and watched for Sam’s reaction. The youngest Winchester said nothing and Dean wished he could see his face this time. Sam wouldn’t acknowledge the pain to spare Dean and they both knew it.

           “’M going to add another finger.” Dean muttered awkwardly but before he could follow through, the coven leader was already speaking out—

           “We don’t have all night. Why don’t you just fuck him now?”

           “We do this right or we don’t do it at all!” Dean growled and tried not to consider how this could ever be _right._

           The coven leader sneered. “You’re in no place to make demands.”

           Dean was about to shout at her again when Sam pushed back on his finger, clenching as he rocked his hips to silently tell him to _get it over with._ Embarrassment and shame seized Dean immediately at realizing he was still knuckle deep in his brother. “OK, alright, just… bare down and don’t forget to breath,” he murmured and smoothed his free hand over the other mans naked back worriedly. “It’ll hurt more if you tense up.”

           “You won’t hurt me,” Sam said into his arm and his unwavering trust broke his brothers heart. “Just, do it,” the younger man ground his hips back again to make his point. Dean ignored how captivating that sight was—Sam’s sweat slicked back rolling with muscles—and positioned his dick against his brother’s hole.

           “So sorry, Sammy.” Dean repeated and slipped the head of his cock inside Sam’s tight body. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to tumble into insanity. It was so maddening—feeling the pleasurable tight pressure of Sam’s body and simultaneously knowing he was raping his brother. His breathing was harsh and ragged once he was finally seated, his hips pressed tightly against Sam’s backside and shivering thighs.

            “Shit,” Deans gasped and his vision blurred as he titled his head up.

            The younger hunter hung his head impossibly lower; his face was nearly on the floor. After a second he spoke with a gravelly voice, “doesn’t hurt that bad.” Then added more quietly, “just—hurry up, ok?”

            Dean’s heart stuttered like it might quit. “Yea, OK.” He moved back, and then pressed forward again slowly. He couldn’t deny the warmth pooling in his belly as he pumped in and out, steadily, dutifully. His brow broke out in sweat with the effort of staying in control, and a good part of himself wanted to lose that control.

            He was careful not to look around, not to make eye contact with any of the coven members. Dean tried to forget where he was, who he was with. He closed his eyes, thought of fucking that girl he met in Oklahoma, and squeezed Sam’s hips. His fingers pressed into sharp bones where it would usually be soft and curvy. Despite everything he wanted to touch more, slide a hand up his back, or under his stomach. Dean bit his lip and groaned. It felt good.

            Sam rocked back once and they both moaned at the joint effort. After that, he continued meeting his brothers thrusts by rolling his hips. Just like anything else in their life, they worked in sync. Sam seemed to know exactly how to move to make Dean’s stomach drop and even though he knew Sam was only contributing to speed things up, it took all of Dean’s will power not to curse out loud— _‘fuck, yes. You’re so tight…’_

            The coven members began to chant in unison and the seal on the floor underneath the Winchesters glowed.

            Dean bit his bottom lip, face screwed up in self-loathing and pleasure. Usually he would be trying to hold out as long as possible, but now he hungrily chased his orgasm. “Shit,” Dean gasped, eyes flying open. “I’m close.” He looked down, mouth hanging open as he watched his brother take his dick.

            Sam groaned low and long, keeping rhythm with the other man’s movements. His head still hung between his shoulder blades, but the red blotches were gone. Dean cracked his hips unevenly and Sam clenched his teeth, arched his back. He rasped something that could have been Deans name.  

            The coven was chanting loudly in cryptic Latin, words Sam and Dean know but can't understand now. An electric current is humming though the air as magic was rising in intensity. 

            “Sam, I—” Dean’s voice choked off pitifully. He was stuttering somewhere between his orgasm and losing his mind.

            Sam groaned again and turned his head, biting into his own arm to stifle the sound.

            And that—it was hot. Dean hissed at the sight, trying to choke down another appreciative curse. He tossed his head back and looked up at the ceiling but nothing could block out the sound of riding his brother, or the noises Sam made. His impending orgasm hit him like a train. “Fuck, I’m…”

            “Do it, come on.” Sam growled into his arm and threw his ass back at his brother. Dean felt like combusting.   

            “Pull out you idiot, pull out!” The coven leader was shouting at him, shouting about the completion of the ceremony.

            Dean pulled out and quickly took himself back in hand, though it only took two strokes and he was coming all over the glowing seal, his eyes still on Sam. Immediately the atmosphere changed and the coven stilled—the ritual had been completed and now the demon could be summoned.

            “Move!” The leader hissed angrily and Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly hiked up his pants and turned to his brother who was still on his knees and forearms that were bound together over his chest. Sam looked wrecked. Dean couldn’t remove the rope binding him yet but he did snatch Sam’s clothes and haul his brother away from the seal.

            The coven members didn’t seem to care what the Winchesters did—they had what they wanted—and let them move to the back of the room.

            “Here, I—” Dean tried to hand his brother his pants first but forgot Sam was still tied at the wrists.

            “My hands,” the younger brother sniffed without looking up.

            “Right, yea.” He withdrew a knife from his pocket and cut away the restraints.

            At the same moment, a bright flash burned in the center of the seal where the Winchesters had been just seconds before. Standing in the center was a creature that he had never seen before and the coven bowed to it.

            It wasn’t humanoid and it wasn’t possessing a person, either. It had grey skin spotted like a leopard and was standing on two bowed cat-like legs. Its neck and head was an unnatural winding snakes head, complete with rough scales and pointed fangs.  

            The creature swayed for a moment and then its face morphed, slowly, into a more human-like expression. It still had grey scales and fangs, but had human features such as lips, eyes, chin, and even a head of ashy grey hair. The thing looked at Dean and opened its mouth. An ungodly sound erupted from its human-like jaws—it sounded like hundreds of ravenous dogs tearing into a hunk of flesh.

            Dean did the math. He and Sam were in no position to fight a demon, or whatever the hell this was, right now. “We need to get out of here.” 

            The bizarre demon was looking at the brothers like they were his favorite dessert and Dean could barely see the exit. They didn’t have any weapons, save the pocket knife that would do shit for them now. Running was their only option. “Sam, come on, we have to go.”

            “Did I forget to mention that we were summoning a questing beast,” the coven leader asked with a smirk. “It’s a very old demon; created when magic was still new and made into something that’s never quite human. In order for it to stay here, in our world, it needs to consume the flesh of those who commit incest.” She laughed at Dean’s grim expression. “You and your brother were never getting out of here alive.”

            “Lady,” Sam said darkly and it only took a second for him to tap into the reservoir of Yellow Eyes inheritance. Sam hated himself for the thrill of relief he felt, but he also knew this was the only way out of this fucked up situation. “Shut up,” he ordered darkly. So much anger was directed into a single point, like the entire sun focused under one thick magnifying glass. He loathed this woman for being one more person that used his brother against him, one more person threatening to take away the only thing that ever mattered. He didn’t even have to raise an arm—his rage knew what to do with his power.

             Dean felt like his bones were falling out of his body as he watched his brother slide into another skin, accept that part of himself that he promised to leave alone and not touch. It felt like betrayal.

             The questing beast howled in pain and doubled over as Sam glared at it. The beast writhed as if it had been stuck in the stomach with a spear, snarling at everyone in the room including the witches. It looked mad, unfocused, blinded by pain.

            “What are you doing?” The priestess shrieked in confusion and reached for her gun again.

            “Kill them,” Sam said to the demon in a deep voice that Dean didn’t recognize, “or I will kill you.” When Sam took a step back, pressing into his brother’s shoulder, the questing beast collapsed and looked around the room with its mouth open—scenting the air like a big cat. Its long neck bobbing dangerously, and the coven members stepped backward.

            “You can’t turn on us,” one of the members hissed. “We brought you here!”

            The coven leader, however, was already moving toward the door. She knew better. They did not control the demons they summoned, the witches worked for them.

            The questing beast was too quick, though, and snapped its head forward. It caught the coven leaders leg in its jaws, the horrible rush of noise erupted from its mouth again, and the coven leader lost her leg.

            After that it was pure pandemonium. The questing beast ripped through the room and mortally wounded each witch until none were left able to flee and then, patiently, the beast turned back around and killed them.

            The Winchesters didn’t stick around to watch the last of them die, however. Sam felt light headed, overcome with the rush of endorphins from using his abilities. He didn’t need demon blood to use his powers, but without it the exertion left him weak. He staggered once and Dean caught him by the arm and hauled him off. Then they’re running, running away from the bizarre demon that’s bound to chase them, away from the shredded bodies of the witches, and away from the memory of what they had just done.

oXiiXo

            Turns out they were only able to run, drive, for about 90 miles before Dean fell out of the impala. More silence ate up the space between them after Dean’s outburst.

 _“What is there to talk about? I fucking_ raped _you.”_

            Sam winced at his brother’s word choice. Is that what happened? He couldn’t pick that apart right now, and Dean wouldn’t listen to him anyway _._ Right now, he just felt afraid that this would drive Dean into a self-loathing downward spiral—that he’d cut Sam out for good this time. “What if this changes things, between us?” He asked carefully.

            Dean closed his eyes and released a labored breath. “It’s not going to change anything, because we’re going to forget it ever happened.”

            Winchesters were just as good at killing monsters as they were at self-denial and repression but this? This would kill them faster than anything they’ve ever hunted and Sam knew it. “I don’t want to forget—”

            “Just, stop it, OK? Fuck,” the older hunter cursed. He looked wiped out, sickly pale and exhausted. After a second Dean coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and it was clear the conversation was over. “We need to put a few more miles between us and that hell hole, before the local authorities see the mess you left behind, anyways.” He shot his brother a worried glare.

            Sam winced but it almost felt safer to talk about something normal. Normal, like how Sam had used his abilities to get them out of that mess.

            Jesus Christ their lives were messed up.

            “I didn’t think we had another choice.” Sam explained stiffly, not wanting to talk about how he could always feel the powers he inherited, lurking behind unwanted potential. When Dean didn’t respond, the younger hunter sighed and leaned back. He needed to try one more time… “Dean, listen to me, none of this is your fault—” he stopped when he saw the other man give him a deadly look that clearly said s _top talking._ “Sorry.” He apologized sheepishly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEH Sam using his powers was a little sloppy deus ex machina and I have no good excuse. I'm not going to play with powers!Sam again in this fic. I hate myself for using it, but not further addressing his abilities. SORRYNOTSORRY.


	3. Elephant in the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam confronts his brother about the growing tension between them.

Chapter Two: Elephant in the Room 

Rating: Mature  

Summary: Sam confronts his brother about the growing tension between them.

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort

Words: 2143

 

oXiiXo

    They put miles between them and the coven, both silently vowing to never return to Silver City, New Mexico. They took every hunt that fell on their lap. Sam perpetually smelled like graveyard smoke and sulfur. Dean had a hard set to his jaw that used to only be there when they talked about Yellow Eyes. They didn’t talk to each other unless it was about something they were trying to kill, and they were out of sync.

    It was like they were strangers, hunting together for the first time. It was never this bad; not when Sam was a kid and dreamed about getting out of the life every waking minute, and not when they were reunited after Jess died. They were brothers, and they always worked together seamlessly. Now, now things were just awkward.

    What an understatement. Dean would toss something over his shoulder and under any other circumstances Sam would have caught it, but this time he didn’t. Sam would try to uselessly communicate something with his eyes, _it’s the pocket watch, burn it._ They could always do that before, why not now? Oh, right, Dean never looked him in the eyes these days. They weren’t as tactile anymore, either. They had a close call, Sam thought the skin walker got Dean, but he was fine. He was fine and Sam wanted to put a hand on him, just to feel him solid—in one piece, like they had done after every rough hunt in the past.

    But Dean shrugged him off immediately and gave him a dirty look.

    Sam felt like he was suffocating any time Dean was around and lost whenever he wasn’t. Three months passed and things were only getting worse. He could see how the guilt was eating away at his brother, and he felt powerless against the void that was developing between them.  

    It was supposed to be their last day at their current stop. They had gotten a lead on a possible haunting in the same state, about three towns over. Dean had walked out to get their clothes from the humble on-site laundry mat and Sam saw an opportunity. While his brother was retrieving their clean clothes, Sam snatched up the keys to the impala on Deans bedside table. He would make the older man talk to him, even if it meant holding his baby hostage.

oXiiXo

    Minutes later Dean walked in with two mesh bags full of their clothes slung over his shoulder. “Ready to hit the road?” He asked without looking at his brother, who was sitting defiantly on the bed.

    “Sit down, Dean.” He said softly, but with a firmness that made the shorter man jerk in surprise.

    When Dean looked at his brother and saw the determined set to his jaw, he cursed. He started looking for his keys a little frantically. It was like he could smell the oncoming conversation like a storm in the air. Dean patted down his pockets and looked on the counter.

    “I’ve got them,” Sam said with a clipped tone and displayed the keys between his fingers. 

    “Sam,” he warned and gave his brother the best glare he could muster under the circumstances. It wasn’t very effective. “Damnit, gimme the keys.”

    “No,” his voice was no longer soft and he clenched the keys in his closed fist. Sam glowered at his brother, looking like a dog that had been kicked too many times and ready to bite. “You keep putting this off and I can’t take it anymore. We don’t leave until we talk.”

    “Fuck.” Dean barked and ran a hand through his shortly cropped hair. “Do you really think this is going to solve anything?”  

    “You haven’t called me Sammy since it happened,” the younger hunter commented sadly and that, that took all the wind right out of Dean’s sails.

    The older brother scowled. He sat down on his bed and looked at his boots. “Well,” he huffed. He would sit through this if he had to, but they both knew it would be like pulling teeth.

    “Dean, trying to forget it isn’t working.” Sam observed and sat down at the edge of the other mattress, feet pointing toward his brother.

    “No shit,” the elder hunter snapped and looked up at the other. “I fucking—I keep seeing those blotches on your back, and your face and how scared you— god and you threw up.” He buried his head in his hands. “Is this working for you, because I feel like shit.”

    Sam took in a big breath as he deposited the keys on the bed between his legs. “It’s not what you think I…” he started awkwardly and ignored the heated glare from his brother. “I... didn’t throw up because I was scared. I _wasn’t_ scared, at least no more than usual when I think we might die.” He amended while nervously rubbing his palms over the denim covering his thighs . “I wasn’t scared of you.”

    Dean snorted. “And now?”

    “No, never.” He said it quickly, earnestly, and they both knew Sam meant it.

    “How can you fucking look at me like that!” His voice cracked.

    “Because you’re my brother!” Sam shouted back, and this at least felt a little more familiar. They were always good at yelling at each other.

    “I raped you!” Dean snarled.

    Sam cringed. “Stop saying that!” If anyone heard them now…lord knows these shitty motels have thin walls…

    “That’s what fucking happened,” Dean fumed. “How can you expect me to, to look at you and…god, I got off on it.” His face went a little grey, eyes growing wide and glassy.

    “Stop it,” Sam repeated and leaned forward. He wanted to take his brothers wrist in hand or something, but he knew it wouldn’t be welcomed. “Stop torturing yourself, it’s not like you’re the only one—” he stopped himself then, and sat down again. “Look,” he sighed while lacing his fingers together, looking down. “If our positions were reversed, how would you feel?”

    “Our situations aren’t reversed,” Dean growled. He had never done well with hypotheticals. It was pointless. This was his life, and there were no do overs.

    “You’re totally disgusted by the sight of me,” Sam laughed mirthlessly and leaned away.

    “That’s not true.” Dean said in a knee-jerk reaction, but he did feel disgust twist in his gut any time he noticed the powerful stride in his brother’s legs, or the curve of his spine when he pulls on a clean t-shirt. He notices things he hadn’t noticed before, like if Sam wasn’t his brother…

    “It sure feels that way,” the younger Winchester snapped. “You can’t stand to be around me.”

    Dean closed his eyes and exhaled. “What do you want me to say? I don’t know how to make this right.”

    Sam chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, considering if he should accept the feeble olive branch or not. “For starters, stop saying you raped me. Jesus Christ, I told you to do it. There was literally a gun to your head, and mine.” He saw that his brother was about to protest again. “Besides,” he spoke up a little angrily and his lips were thin, like they were when he was losing patience.  “I…can’t think of it that way. You did not rape me.” He glared at the other until Dean nodded.

    The older hunter admitted, to himself at least, that he hadn’t considered how that phrasing might affect his brother. He was trying to punish himself not Sam. “Yea, OK.” He swallowed a lump in his throat.

    “And stop avoiding me,” Sam added in the same quiet but firm tone as before. “If things weren’t weird between us you would have taken these keys from me by now. You barely touch me anymore.” He flushed a little at that. “You know, like before, just…fuck, act like you’re my brother. It was never weird before.” In fact, they had been accused of being overly affectionate in the past. It got them weird looks from other hunters. Words like _clingy, codependent,_ and _weird_ were thrown around a lot.

    Dean grit his teeth and resisted the urge to point out, _before I had my dick up your ass, yea that changes things._ Instead he nodded. “Might take a while, to be honest.”

    “I get that,” the younger hunter responded evenly. “But I can’t keep doing…this. Ignoring it isn’t working.”

    The older brother looked tight as a metal spring. Talking was not his thing, but this rift between them was effecting their work. They were stiff and awkward, slipping up when they couldn’t afford it. Mistakes could get them killed. On their off time, it was just as obvious. When they last saw Bobby, he had noticed something was off between the brothers. Dean’s legs gave out and he nearly brained himself on the kitchen table after Bobby asked if they were having another _lovers quarrel_.

    Sensing that his brother was sinking into himself again Sam spoke up. “Anything you want to get off your chest, or… I don’t know, any requests?”

    Dean just blinked at his brother for a moment, _any requests._ What the fuck kind of question was that?

    “You know, like, boundaries or something.” Sam supplied, as if he could read the others thoughts.

    The older brother grunted, “boundaries.” He turned his head and scratched along his ear. “Not so much a boundary…just, uh, somethings bothering me. I never asked and, I want to know. Or, really, I probably don’t but…”

    “You didn’t hurt me.” Sam’s voice was small but truthful. He kept his face down while picking at a loose thread on the scratchy comforter, “I swear. I wasn’t even that sore afterwards.” He coughed a little awkwardly and looked up; he was blushing.

    “Good, good…. that’s…I’m glad.” Dean cleared his throat. “Not that it makes it much better. I feel like such shit, Sam, you have no idea.” He looked at his brother again and this time they held each other’s stare for a solid five seconds, longest yet in recent weeks. Soon, though, Sam squirmed in his sitting position on the bed. He looked uncomfortable and the flush on his face was rushing down his neck and chest. “Sammy?”

    The younger hunter smiled tentatively at the use of his nick name. It felt good to hear it again. “Dean I—” he started and stopped awkwardly. “I need to tell you something. I don’t know if it will make things better or worse, and I promise I’ll never bring it up again, but I need to say it at least once or I’ll hate myself for letting you go on thinking you’re the only one...” He was rambling. Sam never rambled; always so good with words, Dean’s brother.

    “OK,” the older sibling agreed slowly.

    “I, uhm,” Sam looked up and then down as if he wasn’t sure where to place his eyes. Finally, he settled on glaring at his own boots. “It _really_ _didn’t_ hurt,” he coughed shortly. “Like, at all, not really. Actually it, hell Dean do you get what I’m saying?” His fists were balled up over his thighs when he finally looked up, face burning.

    “What?” Dean balked.

    “It felt good, Jesus fuck!” He yelled and stood up, twisting away. With his back facing the other hunter Sam put his hands on his hips and went on. “There, so, stop kicking yourself for getting off on it because I did, too just…yah know,” he paused awkwardly. “The circumstances were awful and it’s not like I was getting off on the _situation_ —”

    “God, shut up.” Dean hissed, sounding horrified and covered his face with his hands. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

    Sam whipped around again to face the other. “I’m just saying…you couldn’t help it, neither could I.” He concluded miserably.

    “Jesus Christ.” Dean groaned and fell back on the bed. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until his vision was spotty and dark. “Shut up.”

    Sam’s tone was still high and it was clear he was flustered when he continued. “I can’t be mad at you for…whatever, if I was headed there, too.” He tried to reason with his stubborn brother, at the cost of his own humility.

    “What,” despite everything he huffed one, disbelieving laugh. “You really expect me to believe you would have come if—” _I had lasted longer._ “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

    Sam looked like he might have something up his ass right now, with how stiffly he stood there, hands balled at his sides, holding his breath. “You know, maybe this was a bad idea.”

    Then, mostly on reflex, Dean smirked “awe but I feel like we were making progress.”

    “Shut up,” Sam huffed but he smiled despite himself and some of the tension lifted.


	4. The Haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers are out at a bar and Dean gets triggered. Sam offers some solutions.

Chapter Three: The Haunt  

Rating: Mature  

Summary: The brothers are out at a bar and Dean gets triggered. Sam offers some solutions.

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, eh maybe a little humor

Words: 1986

 

oXiiXo

       Things went on with a little less gloom and more normality settled into their lives—well, as normal as things got for them. They sure as shit didn’t talk about it, but Dean called his brother Sammy and the men could look each other in the eyes without immediately flashing back to what had happened.

       There were triggers, though. Cases about witches were passed up and suddenly neither of them found it even a little funny when they were mistaken for a couple. There were other things, things Sam pretended not to notice, like how Dean wasn’t sleeping around anymore or how Dean got fidgety if Sam walked around half dressed in their hotel room. Sometimes, when they were alone, accusatory silence filled the space until Dean got so anxious he had to leave. Again, Sam struggled with the decision to confront his brother about whatever it was that was hanging above them but in the end, he didn’t have to. Dean brought it up himself.

       They were at a bar for hunters. Someone who thought they were clever name it _The Haunt_ , and the brothers had been there a few times. Though Sam and Dean typically worked alone, they were familiar with the usual players. Hunters earned reputations and the Winchester Brothers were popular within their little world, at first because of their father. Now they had their own stories to tell around tables.

        Dean liked visiting places like this. There was something refreshing about hooking up with chicks who didn’t ask questions about his scars because, well, they usually had a few of their own. He was chatting up a cute hunter at the pool table with a few of those scars, even though he had no intention of taking her up on anything she might offer. Instead he was keeping one eye on his brother, who was at the bar talking to a hunter by the name of Eric.

       “You worried about your brother or something?” The cute hunter, Lydia was her name, asked while smacking gum in her pretty mouth. She leaned over his shoulder, pressing into his backside boldly. They had hooked up in the past and she was hoping for another go.

        “Should I be?” Dean asked with a cocky grin and quirked eyebrow. He feigned nonchalance as he leaned into her, even though his stomach twisted.

        “Huh,” Lydia observed, hanging over his shoulder. “Eric has a rep, I thought you knew.”

         Dean watched as Eric stepped into Sam’s personal space and glanced down at what looked like his brother’s groin. Sam barked out, laughing at whatever Eric said and leaned forward to say something in the other man’s ear over the noise of the bar. “What kinda rep?” Dean asked, though he had a pretty good idea.

          Lydia snickered, “like yours but with dick.”

          Dean was across the bar in a second flat. “Let’s go, Sammy, gettin’ late.”

          The older Winchester didn’t miss the frown that settled over Eric’s face. _Get your teeth out of my brother, you creep._ Sam, though, looked mostly confused. “Ah, yea, alright, hold on. Let me settle my tab—”

           “Don’t worry about it, I got you.” Eric offered, recovering quickly from Dean’s interruption. “You can pay me back next time.” The sonofabitch winked.

            Dean reached forward and jerked Sam away. “Woa,” the younger hunter protested. “What the hell, Dean. Is something wrong?” He complained as his older brother dragged him out of the bar until they were at the impala. “What the fuck, dude?”

            “Don’t you know about him?” Dean hissed. “I was trying to do you a favor!” They were now standing on either side of the impala, talking over her sleek black roof.

            “What?” Sam slit his eyes at his brother, looking at him like the older man was talking in Portuguese.

            Finally, some of Deans common sense floated back to him; it was probably late to the party because it was still lingering around Lydia, who had been a sure thing. He gulped and looked up. It was a cloudless night full of many bright stars. “Shit, did you, uh, want to go home with him, or something?”

             “Jesus Dean, I’m not trying to fuck Eric.” Sam sounded sour, like he did when Dean made jokes about him being girly. “He’s been trying to get into my pants since I was 15. You seriously never noticed before?”

            Dean had, in fact, never noticed.

            “What is this about, really?” The taller hunter asked, and raised his eyebrows at the other man.

            Dean looked like he swallowed a lemon, but suddenly realized they were still standing outside. Anyone coming in or out of the bar could overhear them. “In the car,” he grabbed the handle and swung the heavy door open. It cried out, screeching loudly over the muffled sounds from the bar. Thankfully, Sam silently mirrored him and slid into the passenger seat.

            “Look, sorry, I just…” Dean palmed his hand over his open mouth and chin. “I was with Lydia and she said Eric was…was like me, but with dudes and I saw him with you and freaked out.” The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to be left alone with a guy _like him_ , for many obvious reasons. He knew Sam would know what he meant. “But then I thought you might have been looking for that, I mean I never knew—and, never mind.” His lips closed abruptly.

            Meanwhile Sam had turned his head so far to the side it looked like it might get stuck like that. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

            “I thought you might want to hook up with Eric because of what happened with the questing beast,” he blurted out.

            Sam’s eyes widened and he reeled back in his seat, visibly surprised. “Uh, why would you think _that_ would make me gay?” He deadpanned; for once the younger Winchester wasn’t tip-toeing around his brother’s delicate sensibilities.

            “Because you said you liked it,” Dean sputtered from the driver’s seat. Suddenly he remembered falling out of his car because he couldn’t stand being so close to his brother. He probably had a panic attack that day.

            “So?!” Sam shouted. “What the fuck, you asshole! You liked it, too. Does that make you gay?” The younger brother expected the other man to yell back, _no!_ Instead Dean’s mouth flapped open and shut like a fish.

            Maybe he was going to have another panic attack. “Guh,” he said unintelligently. “I—no?” He winced at the feebleness of his own words.

            “Dean?” A switch flipped on in Sam’s head as he realized he had struck a nerve the other man didn’t even know existed. “Hey, never mind. We don’t need to go there. I was joking.” He threw excuse after excuse. It wasn’t very effective.

            Dean climbed out of the cabin. At least this time he didn’t _fall_ out on his ass, but he quickly began pacing around. Fuck, was he seriously having some gay crisis after having extorted, hostage, sex with his brother? Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is so messed up. He had been working so hard on pretending like that never fucking happened. God, how many hits could their relationship take before they hated each other?

            Sam remained in the car, trying to decide if he should go and try to talk to his brother or just let him run around the parking lot like a lunatic. He shook his face, trying to wake himself up for the task. Dean always had this chip on his shoulder, big enough it almost took his head off, and it got deeper when he felt like he wasn’t able to protect his younger brother. Sam stepped out of the car and came around to lean against the grill of the impala. He immediately wished he was wearing a hoody so he could tuck his hands away. When did he stop wearing hoodies, anyway?

            Dean stopped pacing abruptly and faced the other man, “what?!”

            “Just waiting for you to chill out,” Sam held up his palms defensively.

            “Oh, excuse me for not being OK with this! We’re not all as well adjusted as you,” he snarled.

            The younger man flinched like Dean had insulted him, but quickly recovered. “Maybe I’m not OK with it, I’ve just had more time to sort it out,” he muttered and looked away with a pinched expression. “So, are you going to share with the class, or what?”

            Dean huffed and put his hands on his hips, tail of his jacket pushed up a little. “I feel like I’m going crazy, that’s what!”

            Sam gave him an impatient look. “Care to elaborate?”

            Dean gulped, “pretty much can’t stand to see you undressed, for starters.” His face flared bright red, which was an improvement from the ghastly white. “How’s that for sharing?”

            Sam figured as much. It was hard not to take it personally when Dean left the room every time he undressed for bed or got out of the shower. “OK, I won’t change in front of you. I’ll use the bathroom or whatever, easy.” He made it sound simple enough.

            “And its fucked up my sex life,” he admitted and almost bit off his tongue.

            So far Sam was two for two; he had also noticed Dean wasn’t chasing skirt. Considering casual sex was how his brother got over most of his problems, Sam could understand how this could be an issue. “Err…like, you don’t want to or…can’t?” He decided to ask directly. Conversations like this always had a quick expiration with Dean.

            “I don’t know,” he whined like someone was twisting his arm to make him talk. The older hunter raked one hand through his short hair, the other stayed on his hip. “Both, I guess. I don’t know,” he sounded miserable. “Just thinking about sex makes me feel sick.” Truth was, he hadn’t had a libido since the incident at the coven.  

            Just then some hunters filtered out of the bar. Each of them looked more trashed than the last, except for an older woman who was herding the rest. They recognized her. Though John never moved on—obviously—he did have partners. This woman was one of his regular, albeit casual, girlfriends. Her name was Harriet, but everyone called her Doll. She noticed them even from a distance. 

            “You boys aren’t fightin’, are you?” She shouted from across the wide, dirt lot. Doll was never a mother-figure to them, but she could have been like an aunt, maybe.

            Instinctively, they moved to stand shoulder to shoulder and answered back. “No ma’am.” For a split-second, Sam had a flashback to when they were kids and any time they had to talk to an _outsider._ They always shouldered up, built a wall against the world, and corroborated each other’s stories without effort. It must have been frustrating to anyone who wanted to get past their defenses, but it was instinctual.

            “Good,” she returned sternly. She was never bothered by the fact that the boys didn’t accepted her as anything more than their fathers _friend._ “Nothin’ more important than family. Ya’ll be good!” With that she marched on, following the five drunken hunters she was trying to manage.

            The brothers stood in a stifling silence until Sam leaned to the side and bumped his shoulder against Dean. “You still with me?”

            The older brother nodded his head, but kept his eyes on the dusty ground.

            “Anything else?” Sam didn’t expect the other man to speak up. They had covered more ground than he could have hoped.

            “I’m having nightmares about it.”

            Sam sighed, big breath for bigger courage. “Do you want to—”

            “ _No!”_ He hissed before Sam could get the words out.

            “Alright, alright. I won’t ask again,” the younger hunter muttered and kicked at the ground. “But you can tell me. Who else would understand?”

            “That is exactly the problem, Sammy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed this chapter, it might be my favorite non-sex filled chapter from this fic.


	5. By Proxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts to have nightmares and Sam tries to help his brother without calling him out on it.

Chapter Four:  By Proxy

Rating: Mature  

Summary: Dean starts to have nightmares and Sam tries to help his brother without calling him out on it

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, nightmares, co-sleeping

Words: 2822

oXiiXo

      Two days after their come to Jesus moment outside The Haunt they got a new case and packed up for the Great Lakes area. Dean seemed excited for something to do, something to kill. People were disappearing around one of the smaller lakes in the area and the older Winchester was hoping for a real-life lake monster.

      Meanwhile, Sam was privately investigating how to kill a questing beast. They hadn’t heard anything about family-related deaths, but sometimes it took months or years before hunters connected the dots. Just like serial killers, demons needed to drop a few bodies before the professionals had enough to go on for a profile or pattern.

      Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t finding much. The questing beast was first described in ancient times, so the witches weren’t kidding about this being an old demon. It’s a common trope in Arthuriana Legends and the origin stories described a really messed up fairytale about a princess who falsely accused her brother of rape because he refused her incestuous advances.

      There were a few other ancient accounts, but most were variations of the same thing. The beast was always created through deception and now it hunts people who commit incest. This included people who were tricked or coerced into having sex with a relative, though. In many of the legends King Pellinore and his sons hunt the beast, but they are never successful in killing it. The reality of the situation was that he and Dean had brought this thing back into the modern world and they committed incest. Not only did they have a responsibility to kill it, but they were also inevitable targets. How long did they have before the questing beast circled back and tried to finish the job?  

oXiiXo

      “I call shower first.” Sam snapped, sounding positively deadly. He was folded up in the passenger seat with his arms crossed over his soaking wet shirt and mud caked along his entire left side up to his ear. His pants were also drenched in lake water, heavy, and uncomfortable. If the circumstances had been different Sam would have changed on the side of the road, but he didn’t want to risk sending Dean into a melancholy.

      For his part, Dean was being his usual self, which was an ass. “Sure thing, Ariel.”  He hadn’t stopped laughing since Sam fell in the water, never mind there was a goddamn lake monster lurking in there.

      “Ariel?” He gave his brother a dumb, incredulous look.

      “You kinda look like Ariel after she got her legs.” To make his point he pulled a string of slimy green lake vegetation out of his brother’s hair.

      “Awe, what the fuck,” Sam cried and pulled down the mirror from the visor to check out his hair. “I didn’t even know that was there!”

      “You ate it so bad,” Dean laughed hysterically.

      “The soil gave!” The tallest roared.

      “Hahaha, whatever aquatic’squatch,” Dean muttered between his giggles.

      “You are such a jerk.”

      By the time they got to the hotel, just before dawn, Sam had earned first dibs on the shower. He brought a change of clothes with him into the small room and peeled his dirty clothes off, putting them in the sink so mud and lake water didn’t muck up the floors. Changing in the bathrooms had been annoying, but he was willing to do this until Dean was back to normal. In the meantime, Sam learned how to dress and undress his big ass in the cramped bathrooms without catching his heel, elbow, or shin on the walls, sink, or toilet. He wasn’t always successful.

      The shower was blessedly warm, but Sam didn’t linger. They had both been up for over 26 hours and he wanted sleep now that he wasn’t clammy with lake water. He dressed himself in knitted sleep pants that he didn’t even own three days ago and a dark grey t-shirt. “All yours, I’m going to bed.”

      Dean didn’t need to be told twice. He moved toward the bathroom immediately. Sam was asleep before Dean finished his shower.

oXiiXo

       Sam was a light sleeper, maybe not as light as Dean, but a guy could only survive so many near death experiences before his cortisol levels were constantly jacked. So, when he heard a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cry, he sat straight up with a silver hunting knife in hand.

      Only, nothing was in their room. They were alone. He was sure of it.

      “Dean?” He asked in a normal voice, no reason to whisper. “Did you hear that?” He looked to the right but his brother was still asleep. Sam cocked his head and a second later he heard the noise again, pitiful and sad like a dying animal. Sam realized it was Dean. He was dreaming.

      No, he’s having a nightmare.

      The sleeping man didn’t say anything intelligible like a name or ‘no’. Sam still had a pretty good idea what he was dreaming about, though.

      “Hey,” the younger Winchester lowered his voice as he approached. It’s not like the other bed was far away. One step and he was standing over his brother. Dean wasn’t tossing around, but he was wincing as if in pain. There was a fresh sheen of sweat over his brow, and his fists were clenched. Sam bit his lip and tried to think of what he should do. Feeling out of his depth, he placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The gentle but solid pressure must have done the trick because the sleeping man relaxed.

      Sam sighed in relief and stood there for a moment longer, but soon he felt silly. What if Dean woke up to him standing over his bed, touching his arm like some simpleton? He’d never hear the end of it. He pulled his hand back slowly and went to his own bed, hoping Dean found peaceful sleep.

      Not an hour later Sam woke to new pained sounds, louder and more urgent. After the immediate panic subsided, he knew Dean was again distraught. He realized that if he didn’t figure something out, he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

      Sam groaned and went to the floor between the two beds, facing Dean. Under the circumstances, he didn’t know what else to do. If someone were to spy on them it would look like Sam fell asleep praying at Dean’s bedside. His long legs were folded under him and he bent forward so his head and arms were cradled on the bed. From this angle, he could place a comforting hand on his brother, which seemed to keep the nightmares away. He rubbed Deans bare arm and shoulder up and down. Sleep quickly pulled him back under and they both rested.

      Five hours later Sam woke up first and crawled back to his own bed before Dean noticed anything. Four more nights went on like that. Sam didn’t even try to sleep in his bed anymore. Every night he waited until he was sure the other man was asleep; he could tell because Dean’s breathing shallowed out, and then Sam settled onto the floor. His knees didn’t thank him for it, but at least they were both sleeping. On the fourth night, they killed their lake monster. It turned out to be a massive eel-looking sonofabitch with 40 eyes and more teeth. It gave Sam the creeps.

      Dean wanted to celebrate killing the lake monster. Really, its death was one of the funnier and wilder things they’ve ever seen. The creature was sensitive to copper so, naturally, instead of fashioning a harpoon out of the metal or doing something equally reasonable, Dean stuffed a bloody sock full of pennies and dragged it through the water. Sam kept telling him it was a stupid idea, until it worked, and then the lake monster blew up and Sam was back to his original point.

      Despite getting eel-goo all over him, Sam really did want to celebrate. Only, between sleeping on the floor and the all-nighters hunting the nocturnal lake monster, he was starting to drag ass.

      “You look like shit,” Dean observed as they cleared out of their room to hit the road again.

      Sam snorted, “anyone ever tell you your bedside manner sucks?”

      “I’m working on it,” Dean lied and flashed a cheesy grin. “Na, seriously, though. You OK? That lake water didn’t get you sick, did it?”

      Sam shrugged, not wanting to make Dean worry. “These beds must be made of glass or something. My backs all messed up. Let’s spring for a Best Western next time?”

      “Really? I’ve been sleeping great, actually.” Dean perked up, proud.

      “Oh?” Sam tried not to sound too curious.

      For a second Dean looked like someone gave him the key to the city. “Yea, uh, no nightmares for a few nights now.”

      “That’s awesome!” Sam grinned, feeling not the least bit guilty for being dishonest.

oXiiXo

      The following night, now somewhere in Arkansas, Sam waited in his bed hoping that he wouldn’t hear his brother’s night time cries. Maybe Dean was over it. They could move on.

      No such luck. Sam woke up around three in the morning, no longer confused about the noises calling him from sleep. He moved on autopilot and fell next to Dean’s bed. He gently placed one hand on the nape of his brother’s neck and pillowed his head with the other. He watched Dean sleep for a minute; their faces were only a few inches apart at this angle. His brother looked peaceful when he slept, as long as he was touching him in some way. Sam sighed, wondered how much longer this could go on.

oXiiXo

      Early the next morning, before the sun began to creep over the horizon, Dean woke up slowly. It was rare that he could wake up like this, naturally. Lately they had been working such weird hours, his sleep schedule was all messed up. It had also been awhile since he woke up to another person in his bed.

      Wait, what?

      The room was dark without any sunlight poking through the curtains and it took his eyes just a second to adjust. It was Sam, but he wasn’t _in_ his bed as much as he was leaning on it from the floor. His brothers arm was draped across his back, hand resting on his neck. The contact suddenly felt heavy, like a blanket.

      “Sammy?” He whispered, putting his hand over his brothers.

      Sam’s eyes flew open, but he didn’t stir. “Uh, hey,” he whispered back lamely. He looked like he had been caught sneaking out of a window with the stolen goods strapped to his back—frozen and a bit terrified.  

      “Wha’yer doing?” Dean’s voice was still groggy with sleep but even his cotton-stuffed head realized that this moment was delicate. It was almost like they were kids again, sharing a bed and whispering back and forth while John slept a few feet away, except it was nothing like that.

      “I…I,” Sam cleared his throat, “had a nightmare.” He lied and desperately hoped Dean would buy it. Sam noticed then that Dean hadn’t moved his hand from on top of his. His skin was warm and dry, but not as rough as he expected. This was the first time they held contact for more than a second since everything changed.

      Deans eyebrows jumped up to his hairline and big brother mode woke up before the rest of him. Without thinking he moved to the side, making room for Sam on the bed, even though they hadn’t done this since Sam was seven.

      If the younger brother was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead he pulled himself onto the bed and stuffed his hands under one of the pillows. “Thanks,” he sniffed, still feeling equal parts sleepy and concerned. If Dean figured out what was going on, he would put a stop to it. Then where would they be? Neither of them would get any sleep and Dean would close off again.

      As soon as Sam got on the bed, though, Dean’s foggy head started waking up. He felt the constant need to protect, but he wasn’t so gullible he couldn’t tell when Sam was lying. He was suddenly very aware they were in a bed together, laying down, and he didn’t have a shirt on. He took a brief second to thank the powers that be; his libido still hadn’t recovered from the questing beast incident and he had no morning wood, but he still felt weird.

      “Look,” Sam said quickly, like he could sense Dean’s trepidation. “Don’t make fun of me, OK? I just, needed to be close to you.” He was pretty sure the older hunter had figured out he was full of shit, but maybe if he used _his_ made-up dreams as a proxy they could talk about this without ruining everything. “You know, make sure you were still here.” He added as an explanation, though he knew Dean knew what he meant.

      Dean looked confused, like he didn’t understand why Sam was saying these things. He chose his words carefully “…is this the first time…a nightmare woke you up?” They were still whispering, like someone might hear them even though they were totally alone.

      “Every night for the past week,” Sam said slowly.

      Guilt flashed across the older brother’s features “And you’ve been sleeping on the floor?”

      “Uh, the dreams only stopped when I could put a hand on you.” Sam answered and they both knew what they were really talking about now.

      Dean’s face went a little tight and probably red, it was hard to tell in the dim light. He considered the other man’s words. _…the dreams only stopped when I could put a hand on you…_ His dreams replayed the images at the coven, only in his head things were worse. There was blood and Sam cried, asked him not to do it instead of giving him the encouragement they needed to survive. Then, instead of carefully working it out, Sam gets angry and withdrawn. He hates Dean, tells him he’s disgusting and weak for getting them in that situation. The nightmares usually end with Sam confronting him and then leaving. Sometimes, though, Sam turned into the questing beast and kills him.

      The older hunter closed his eyes and exhaled. Yea, being reminded that Sam was still there through the night, still loved him, probably did sooth him. He could see that.

      “I didn’t want to…bother you, yah know, by waking you up or…getting in the bed.” Sam continued and pulled at the fabric of the pillow. It was a decent material; Dean actually did take them to a Best Western.

      “It doesn’t bother you?” _To have to touch me._

      Sam looked away, lips twisting to the side of his mouth in consideration. “Ah, wish the nightmares would stop, but no Dean…it makes me feel safer.” He coughed again, somewhat uncomfortable with the disclosure. He didn’t say that _just_ for his brother’s benefit; it was true. If it meant assuaging some of his brother's guilt, Sam could admit that he had felt the urge to be closer to Dean in the past. It’s how they grew up, old habits die hard.  

      “Sammy,” the older hunter choked out and pressed his face into the pillow.

      “Hey,” without much consideration Sam moved his hand back to the nape of his brother’s neck, where it had been all through the night. He sucked in a breath, searching for strength. “Don’t make me stop doing this. When…when I have a dream I, uh,” his thumb started to smooth out the V of short hair on Dean’s neck. “I can’t sleep without… just, let me do this.”

      With his face still pressed into the pillow he considered what Sam had just asked of him, what he was offering. Could he really let this continue, burden Sam with one more thing? Tension was knotting up his muscles and he fought the urge to sit up and walk away. His legs burned and the only thing keeping him grounded was the constant soothing touch of Sam’s fingers dipping into his hair, over the hot skin of his neck.

      “Please, Dean.”

      And that did the trick. He would cut out his heart and eat it before he let Sam down again. “Yea, OK, OK,” he turned his face to the side to talk but his eyes were still closed. “But only as needed, only if it gets bad.”

      Sam nodded but continued to stroke lightly at his brother’s neck and hair line. He had memories of Dean doing this for him when they were children. He was happy to be able to return the favor, even under these fucked up circumstances. A second later Sam sat up and went to the bathroom; Dean rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling, thankful for a moment alone.


	6. Guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is conflicted over the co-sleeping and Sam talks his brother from another ledge

Chapter Five:  Guilty  

Rating: Mature  

Summary: Dean is conflicted over the co-sleeping and Sam talks his brother from another ledge

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort

Words: 2735

oXiiXo

            It took some time to work out a new night time routine. Salt the floors, check for hexes, draw a devil trap, who sleeps where? The first night after they talked Sam wondered if he was supposed to sleep on the floor or get into bed with his brother but, after watching Dean stretch out an arm searching for him in his sleep, Sam committed to sharing a bed. A queen-sized mattress could comfortably fit them both, and luckily neither of them moved in their sleep. Neither liked to cuddle, either. Dean slept like a rock as long as he had some point of contact with Sam.

            Sam didn’t crawl into bed until after Dean was unconscious, but he didn’t actually try to sleep alone anymore. It was easier like this, especially for Dean who couldn’t face the reality of their co-sleeping. The sun would rise and the spell would be broken. Whoever woke up first—usually Sam—got out of bed and they continued like nothing happened.

            About two weeks into their new routine, Dean woke up in the middle of the night. He drank too much that evening and he needed to take a leak. He groaned and tried to roll away but something tugged back on his arm. He could see a blurry outline of his brothers mussed up hair and where he clutched Deans arm to his chest, under his chin.

           The older Winchester considered just staying in bed, not wanting to risk disturbing Sam’s sleep. Then, persistent pressure from his bladder reminded him _uh, yea, you really did drink that much,_ and he had to get up _._ He gently extracted his arm and creeped off the bed into the bathroom. He did his business and stopped at the sink. In front of the small vanity Dean washed his face, even though he had showered before bed and really wasn’t trying to wake up himself. Instead, he needed a bit of a mirror pep talk, which turned into a self-loathing grimace at his own reflection.

            He didn’t want to depend on saddling up with his baby brother just so he could sleep. He also didn’t want to _want to_ sleep with him, which was a bigger issue that he couldn’t acknowledge to himself or Sam. He felt relaxed knowing his brother was nearby. Even in his sleep, he somehow knew when the other man was close or not. God, he’s so weak. Wasn’t it enough that he dragged Sam back into his life? He’s so selfish.

             When he exited the bathroom, he didn’t want to return next to Sam. He thought about getting into the empty bed; it looked like it hadn’t been touched. Was Sam even trying to sleep alone anymore? Dean thought about driving around but he was sure the roar of the impala’s engine could wake the dead, and certainly make Sam jump up. He accepted defeat and waddled back to bed, on his side. He watched his brother sleep, unable to effortlessly fall back into it himself, and that’s when he noticed Sam ground his teeth.

            “Huh,” Dean commented. He never remembered Sam grinding his teeth as a kid. He slid his arm against the cool sheet to press his hands against his brother’s chest, where it had been before. This seemed like a safe place to maintain contact…but then Sam snuffled and wedged his foot between Dean’s ankles. Rationally, he knew this had happened before because they usually had to roll away from each other in the morning, severing one or two points of contact, but this felt different. This was different because he couldn’t blame it on sleep or nightmares.

            Dean could smell the other man’s shampoo; his hair was still damp from his earlier shower, and he could feel Sam’s heart beat against his hand. The older brother pinched his eyes shut and tried to enjoy what he could and block out the rest.

            But Sam stopped grinding his teeth. He fell asleep.

oXiiXo

            They went on pretending it wasn’t going on, whatever _it_ was. Sometimes Sam felt like they were hiding something, even though nothing was happening. They were just sharing a bed, for Christ sake. They were both fully dressed, usually sleeping on opposite sides of the bed, and only touching in one or two totally benign places. He had seen more action on the Disney Channel. Dean was clearly uncomfortable with it, even though it was equally clear it was good for him.

            But they didn’t talk about it. Things evened out on their own, eventually. They found a rhythm that was just the right amount of denial and functional, until one of them got hurt and messed up their carefully crafted cognitive dissonance.

            Sam was thrown out of a window on their last case, his right arm got caught on the glass on his way out and cut him from elbow to shoulder. Watching him fly out of the window had certainly shaved a few years off Dean’s life expectancy, but Sam would live. He needed stitches and bled all over the place, but he would live. He also had to sleep on his left side, which put his back to Dean. The youngest was beaten up and tired. He didn’t feel like sitting on “his” bed for 40 minutes waiting for Dean to fall asleep. He carried himself to the other bed, where his brother sat above the covers, and shuffled under the sheets.

            Dean prickled a bit, not used to being confronted with Sam joining him in bed, but kept his mouth shut. He glanced to the side and watch Sam gingerly set himself down. He could see the tight muscles along his brother back, pressing into the thin material of his shirt, and suddenly wanted the lights off.

            The older hunter roughly dropped down and huffed. He tossed to the left, pulled up his legs, turned to the right, straightened one leg, and sighed—

            “Dude!” Sam snapped, still very much awake. “Stop fidgeting.”

            The older man scowled in the direction of his brother’s head. His vision was still bleak in the dark room. “Not used to falling asleep with someone in my bed,” he grumbled.  

            “Well I’m not moving,” he returned quickly. If he had been well, Sam probably would have kicked him.

            “You grind your teeth in your sleep,” Dean blurted out childishly. It was the first thing that came to mind.

            “Really?” Sam sounded genuinely surprised. Years ago, he had completed an inventory before seeing a dentist and asked Jess if he ground his teeth. She had said no. Maybe it was a new phenomenon; he certainly had more stress in his life now.

“Well, just once.” He admitted, now able to clearly make out the lines that defined his brothers body. Damn eyes, too used to seeing in the dark. “I can’t sleep.”

            Sam huffed a small laugh, “no kidding?” 

            Despite himself, Dean smiled. They weren’t touching, yet, but that was probably an inevitability. Sometime during the night, he would either reach out searching, or Sam would drop a comforting hand on him preemptively. Now, they were essentially spooning, just with four inches between them. “Aren’t you tired?”

            Sam considered the question. He felt tired, and he should. Dean gave him enough whiskey to sanitize his large intestine; but he wasn’t sleepy. He had experienced insomnia before, after Jess was killed. It was hard to sleep. Looking up at the ceiling from a mattress felt like someone dropped an ice pick in his face every time for months. This didn’t feel like insomnia, though. “I feel like ground hamburger,” he spoke out of the side of his mouth because half of his face was mushed into a pillow. “But I guess I’m not that sleepy. If that makes sense,” he added.

            “Yea, I think I know what you mean.” Dean knew what kept him awake at night when he couldn’t sleep. After the months that had passed, he never really checked in on how Sam was doing because he couldn’t stand to talk about it. Something about the dark must make him feel brave, though, because the next thing out of his mouth shocked them both. “You ever think the questing beast will come back?”

            A clap of silence filled the air like thunder.

            Sam had thought about that, many times, he had just been too chicken shit to bring it up. He turned up nothing in his research and he didn’t want to start asking around. Enough people gave them weird looks _before_ there was anything to see. They had always been close. They were brothers, grew up in this life together without a mother and with a distant father (if that wasn’t an understatement). They had no one else. They were each other’s best friends, brother, mother, father, confidant, and rival. So, what if Sam had been clingy when they were kids? Little brothers were supposed to look up to their big brothers. And so what if they were still maybe a little more tactile as adults. People needed to mind their own business, anyways.

            But now, Christ, Sam prayed that this questing beast wasn’t the talking sort. Demon’s hated the Winchesters, naturally, and if they found out how the beast had been brought back… every bump in the night and hunter around the world would know about it. He knew Dean couldn’t handle that. There was no way he was going to ask other hunters about the questing beast, not even Bobby if they could help it.

            “I’ve tried looking into it,” the younger hunter answered reluctantly.

            “Me too,” Dean confirmed. “I haven’t been able to figure out how to kill it.”

            Sam sighed, “me neither.” He bit his lips and thought about saying more. His brother had been doing better recently, and Sam had basically begged him to be honest about this shit, he should do the same. “…hate how it changed things.”

            “What do you mean?” Dean asked carefully, suddenly worried he was laying too close to the other man.

          “Things don’t seem weird to you?” Sam asked, sounding more accusatory than anything.

            “Could you be more specific?” Dean drawled.

            “Shut up,” the younger brother rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “I’m trying to be serious and you’re ruining it, like usual.”

            “Hey, you’ve got your style and I’ve got mine, Mr. Sensitivity.” Damn, this almost felt normal. He felt himself relaxing. He closed his eyes, but continued listening.

            “Yea, OK, well, I warned you.” Sam still sounded carefree, until he gulped. “I just, sometimes things still feel tense.”

            Dean tried to process that even as his first instinct was to deny it. The circuits in his brain were running a little slow. He was finally getting tired. “Do you want to stop, yah know, sleeping like this.” His fingers twitched involuntarily between them.

            “No, that’s not what I meant, just…” He paused again. His back was knotted with tension, wound all the way up his shoulders and neck. “I mean, our lives are really weird.” He tried to back up, explain this a little better.

            “I’ve noticed,” Dean answered dryly. He’s feeling particularly snarky tonight, apparently.

            “And all things considered, we’re adjusting pretty well to this, even.”

            More on instinct than anything Dean quipped, “well, you are sleeping with your back to me, so yea,” and immediately regretted it. His stomach dropped and his eyes sprung open. “I mean—”

            “You did _not_ just say that!” Sam shouted in disbelief, but Dean could hear the smile in his voice. “I can’t believe you just said that!” His body was moving with the force of his laughter, shaking the bed with him.

            Dean gulped, tried to recover, even though he still felt like a wave had just wiped him out and smeared him across the ocean floor. “Yea I’m kinda surprised with myself, too.” He sounded sheepish.

            “Well, it proves my point.” The younger brother concluded on the tail end of another chuckle. “We can adjust to pretty much anything but,” his voice had dipped into softer tones again. “Even though we aren’t doing anything wrong, we kinda act like it you know? Like, we’re hiding something…”

            “What are you trying to say, Sammy?” Dean finally sighed, feeling too close to sleep work this out on his own.  

            “That by sneaking around I feel weird about it. I feel ashamed, like we’re gonna get caught. Which is stupid, because we aren’t doing anything. This has nothing to do with, with sex, right?” He was still facing away from his brother, thank god, because his face was scarlet. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean; we didn’t do anything wrong. I hate acting like we’re guilty, like we have something to hide.”

            “What do you want?” He realized as he was saying it he was willing to give Sam whatever he asked for.

            “I don’t know…I knew this would take time and you can’t just bounce back but, it’s stupid that we act like this.” He was using vague words intentionally. “I don’t know if you noticed but it didn’t used to be such a taboo. It never used to bother you…yah know, me being near you.”

            Dean had noticed. Well, not during, but he recognized when he missed it. It was common for them to reach out and put hands on each other after a hunt. They needed to feel each other to ground themselves, remind them that they made it out OK one more time. It was nothing for them to horse around. Sam shouldered his shorter brother into walls all the time and Dean would flush the toilet while Sam showered. They wrestled over stupid shit like the remote and changed in front of one another. They hugged. Jesus, when did they last hug? It was weird, now that Dean thought about it.

            Sam used to be especially clingy when he was about 10 years old but people started to tease Dean about it. He was a teenager and wanted to be grown. He looked more like a teen mom than a man with Sam constantly on top of him. He started rebuffing Sam’s physical affections, told him he needed to grow up. The physical affection never totally went away though, not until now.

            They were acting like they were hiding something; or, Dean was acting like he was hiding something. He still felt guilty, which was making Sam feel guilty. “I think I understand what you mean.”

            “So, if things were normal-ish, you know, relatively,” Sam yawned. “What would you do?”

            “Probably tell you to go to your own bed,” he said honestly.

            “I don’t want to,” the youngest confessed with a nonchalance that felt out of place in this conversation. “I kinda like it, and I don’t want that to be weird. We’re brothers. We can sleep next to one another if that’s what we need.” He explained but did not sound the least bit defensive. “Everything’s so fucked now, and…and we’ve always been able to do anything we need for each other because we don’t have anyone else. This is no different.”

            “OK,” Dean breathed. “Anything we need?”

            “Yea,” Sam shrugged his good shoulder.

            A dense cloud fell over them then, like the conversation was over and they knew they should both be sleeping but couldn’t. Seconds slipped by and the room grew darker, quiet, and more private than moments ago. Dean couldn’t explain it because he hadn’t thought about it before, but he knew as he was moving that this is what he needed right now.

            Dean slid forward, extinguishing the four inches between him and his brother, and pressed against Sam’s back. They slotted together from ankle to shoulders and he put a hand on the curve of Sam’s side, right above his hip. He pressed his forehead into the base of his brother’s neck and felt something pop.

            The cloud that fell over them shattered, breaking away like a sigh of relief. Dean felt it as clearly as he felt Sam against him and it knocked the breath out of him. He searched himself for any shred of shame and found none. Somehow, he was able to let it go even as he hung onto his brother. This wasn’t weird or tainted in anyway. This is what they needed right now, and that was OK.


	7. Of Predators and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The questing beast resurfaces and Deans has another near break, only this time Sam is at the end of his rope, too.

Chapter Six: Of Predators and Monsters

Rating: Mature  

Summary: The questing beast resurfaces and Deans has another near break, only this time Sam is at the end of his rope, too.

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, angst

Words: 3360

oXiiXo

      A month later they get a call from Bobby. Dean answered his phone, expecting a job. The truck cap wearing hunter tells them about a _vengeful spirit_ case in Minnesota. There’s a state-run community for registered sex offenders and the residents are being mutilated by something. Only, it’s not _all_ of the residents. Only the sick fucks that had assaulted their own family members are being turned into blood smears.  

      The brothers have the dots connected before Dean ends the call. Bobby might think they’re dealing with a vengeful spirit, but they know better. “It’s got to be the questing beast,” Sam breathed. He was stiffly stuffed into a motel desk-chair and looked like he would be ready to bolt any minute.

      “Yea, probably.” Dean sagged against the rickety dresser that they didn’t bother packing with their things.  

       Silence filled up the room. This job was different. It shouldn’t be, but it was. Things had been personal before—in fact, their entire hunting careers were fucking personal. They had monsters hunt them back before, too. This was different because this time, Dean felt more like a monster than the hunter. Incest is a sin; this thing kills sinners. This thing wanted to kill them, rip them into bloody ribbons.

oXiiXo

       They arrived in the nearest town to the community early the next morning and drove directly into the sex offender community after changing into their state-police getup. They were too wired from the news of potentially facing the questing beast after all this time to wait to do anything mundane, like sleep or eat. Unfortunately, the trek into the community was not as fruitful as they were hoping. “Well, that was fucking helpful!” Dean grumped as they traipsed into their motel room.

      Visiting the community had been an unnerving experience, and not a good use of time. The residents were probably on edge on a typical day, predators surrounded by predators, and now someone was actively hunting them. Sam could smell the stench of fear as soon as he stepped out of the impala and it had made him a little queasy.

      “Paul was helpful.”  Sam offered reluctantly. “He did give us a list of potential victims.” He started loosening his tie. He might not complain about it as much, but he hated the cheap suits, too.

      “Yea, Paul was alright for a child-molester sympathizer,” the older brother deadpanned. Paul was the community manager that ran the place. Apparently, he had been requesting the sheriff’s department refer this case to the state police (their current disguise) for a few months. Paul also felt certain that the killer _wasn’t_ one of his creepy residents. 

      Dean had been in a bad mood since he rolled up in this town, and it only got worse once they traveled into the sex-offender community. It was an entire mini-city of nothing but sexual deviants, monsters, and now a monster was hunting here, too. Dean grit his teeth through their meeting with Paul.

      In retrospect, Dean would like to give himself a medal for speaking so calmly to the weirdly chipper social worker. The brothers hadn’t spoken about the questing beast to anyone else, as if it would put a big sign over their heads: _We’re brothers and we had sex._ Talking about incest was unavoidable now, however.

      The hunters had thanked Paul for the list of men who had committed incest—some of the residents shared that information during group and individual therapy so Paul _technically_ shouldn’t have handed it over, but they were grateful for his help. The brothers couldn’t wrap their heads around Paul and his vocational calling, though. The social worker was clearly very protective of the men that lived in the community, and was looking out for their safety and best interests. The hunters didn’t get it. Then again, how many people would understand what they do? Maybe, Sam thought sourly, he should stop judging and just do _his_ job.

      The list was the first and last helpful bit of information obtained during their day-trip to the community, though. Interviewing the residents was nearly impossible. The residents hung back, avoided the brothers at every turn. As if being surrounded by registered sex-offenders wasn’t upsetting enough—Dean was not happy about being rebuked by about thirty of them, either.

      “I feel like I need a shower,” the older hunter whined and wriggled out of his jacket and tie.

      “Yea, go.” Sam swatted at the air, inviting his brother to take the first shower. It was still early, maybe only seven at night, but they were worn thin. “I’ll order a pizza.” 

      Dean closed the bathroom door and sighed a breath of relief. Today had been emotionally exhausting; he could feel it but sure as shit wouldn’t admit that to Sam right now. He needed a moment alone, to think, and the best he was going to get was while either of them showered. He would enjoy his meager alone time.

      He stepped under the spray, thankful that the water pressure wasn’t crap, and scrubbed his skin maybe a little too violently. He felt dirty. He had felt dirty all day, even though they hadn’t done more than sweat a little in their suits. He got too many looks at the sex offender community, noticed the way some of them eyed him.

      Dean had heard it his whole life— _pretty mouth, lips like a girls, mouth just made for—_

      He _hated_ it. Sam didn’t catch the same shit, probably because of his height and size and the fact that nothing about Sam was particularly feminine. OK, maybe the hair, but no one is going to call a 6’4 shit brickhouse girly just because his hair is a little long. No one except Dean, that is.

      He would sooner shoot himself in the foot than admit it to anyone, but Dean teases his brother about his hair and being emotional like a girl because he’s a bit jealous. When Dean was younger, before he had filled out and his face had hardened into more masculine lines, he was constantly getting looks from too many strangers. No one took him seriously. He was too pretty.

      The girls loved it, still do, but too many men either overlooked him or looked too hard, too long. Sam didn’t have that problem. Not because the younger hunter _wasn’t_ attractive, but because he was handsome and not pretty. Today was just an unfortunate reminder of every sleazy trucker that checked out his ass, coupled with the fact they were hunting an incest-killing monster, oh, and right, he had fucked his brother so he had a target on his back.

      Dean pressed his palms against the tile of the shower and let the water pummel his back. It felt good, and the water washed down his face and over his eyes and ears until the rest of the world is beaten back. He needed to have his head in the game. They needed a plan.

      When he stepped out of the shower, drying himself with the flimsy motel-towel, Dean considered how they might be sleeping tonight. The idea of sharing a bed with Sam, or anyone right now, made his stomach roll. He still felt dirty, even after the hot shower. He also felt like they were being watched—maybe they were? They had no idea what this questing beast could do, or how it hunted.

      If it hunted people who commit incest, then maybe they should give each other some space for the time being, or forever? Dean started rehearsing how he could break it to Sam that they couldn’t share a bed and fastened the towel around his waist.

      “There better still be hot water,” Sam warned as his brother emerged from the steamy bathroom. The younger hunter started walking toward the shower with bare feet that Dean found weirdly distracting.

      “Yea, should be,” the older hunter felt like his head was still back in the shower with all the steam.

       “Good,” Sam sighed and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Pizza guy should be here soon. Put some pants on before he gets here, or he might get the wrong idea.” He advised with a laugh, like he could just imagine the porny-gears turning in his older brother’s head.

      Dean flushed immediately and turned around, showing his back to the other. “Uh yea, I’ll do that.” He decided now was not a good time to talk about their sleeping arrangements.

       In the time it took Sam to shower and dress himself in the bathroom, Dean had paid for the half garden half meat lovers pizza, devoured two slices, and about blacked out from his most recent freak out. The idea of sleeping with his brother after spending all day talking about incest, and then being eye-gang banged, was unbearable.

      Sam walked out of the bathroom wearing a grey soft cotton v neck and dark coal grey sleep pants. He looked clean, refreshed, and his hair was still damp. His eyes hungrily zeroed in on the pizza box and he dove for it. “I’m starving,” he groaned.

      Dean felt a pang of nostalgia rip through him as he remembered a 13-year-old Sam who was constantly hungry and ate everything but the kitchen table. He watched Sam devour a soggy slice of garden veggie and turned up his nose. Who put spinach on pizza? Weirdo. Dean has no idea how long he watched his brother wolf down his dinner, but he should have been gathering his thoughts _._ Instead he just zoned out, thought about baby Sammy and that time they ate a large pizza by themselves when they were seven and eleven. They both had stomach aches.

       So, he was caught a bit off guard when Sam spoke up—“I’ve been thinking.” He washed down his third slice of pizza with a mouthful of bottled water. “We don’t know how to track the questing beast, exactly, but we uh, we know what attracts it.” The implication hung in the air like a noose.

      “ _What_?” Dean gave himself whiplash. “Sammy,” he laughed nervously. “I must be going crazy because you did not just suggest what I think you suggested.”

      “Dean, just hear me out.” He sounded so calm, it was making his brother feel hysterical. “I’m not saying we…like, right now.”

       Meanwhile a vein on Deans forehead was trying to self-destruct.

       “But, if we can’t get a lock on this thing and it keeps hunting, killing people…we might not have a choice.” At the tail end of his speech it was more obvious Sam was uncomfortable. He had probably rehearsed this proposal. While Dean had been thinking about how to ask for more space, Sam had been deciding how to bring _this_ up. “I’m just saying, we need to consider it a possible plan B.”

      “I’m sorry if I’m not jumping at a chance to relive having a gun to my head, summoning an ancient demon/monster thing, and you throwing up all over the place. I really, really don’t think it’s a good idea.” He could still see the blotches covering his brothers back, and hear the terrible retching sound he made around the gag. Sam never explained what exactly had triggered the vomiting, just said that he hadn’t been scared. Well, Dean knew it wasn’t the shady gas station food.

      Sam flinched for just a second, but then shook the expression of his face. He wiped his hands clean of pizza crust-powder and pressed on. “I don’t see many options here, man.” Ever the level-headed one. “I know, I know it’s not ideal and I would _never_ ask you to do that under any other circumstances…but people are dying. When the questing beast is done at the sex offender community it’ll go after these guy’s victims. Dean, most of them are children—we have to…I mean, we have a responsibility here _._ ”

      In the back of his head Dean thinks he makes sense of something that hadn’t been clicking for him since all this started. Dean felt guilty for what he did to Sam; Sam felt guilty because the questing beast is killing people. Sam feels so guilty he would rather put himself through that again than let these killings go on. 

      “Sam, Sam, Sam,” the older brother chants. “You don’t have to, OK? You don’t have to do that. This wasn’t your fault; you don’t have to do that.” He was repeating himself like he was a second away from a nervous breakdown.

      Sam frowned, “Dean, stop. Look at me.” He sat down next to his brother. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out, but…seriously, stop acting like I’m talking about sacrificing myself here. Cause, really? All things considered, there are fates worse than having sex with you.” Sam smiles and cocks his head, like he’s making light of the suggestion that they fuck for the greater good.

       Dean’s breath hitches, “that’s not fucking funny.” He put his head between his knees, looking down at the carpet.

       But Sam was laughing, “it’s kind of funny.”

      “Shut up, Sam,” he growled but kept his head down. He was trying to control his breathing. “Maybe we shouldn’t sleep together while we’re on this hunt,” he admitted after a moment.

      “Dean, I’m not going to jump you or anything, Jesus.” Sam hissed, sounding angry and offended. He waited a few long seconds for Dean to recover. When the older man doesn’t so much as lift his head Sam reluctantly adds, “if that’s what you want.”

      Dean sat up and scowled. Of course, that’s what he wanted. Their codependency wasn’t normal, or healthy. Anyone could see that. There was a time Sam hated it, ran away from him to seek out _normal_. “Isn’t that what you want?” Dean asked childishly and wasn’t that just like him—to shift the emotional responsibility onto his brother?

       Sam looked away. “I thought we already talked about this.” It was true. They had buried the hatchet on this issue weeks ago. They decided the co-sleeping was helping. They got some comfort out of it, peace. It didn’t have to be weird. But here they were, and Dean was making it weird. “You still feel like we’re doing something wrong, don’t you?”

       The older man shot the other a dirty look, as if to communicate _duh!_ Dean was only OK with their co-sleeping when he wasn’t thinking about it too much, usually late at night when his head was fuzzy with sleep and the lights were snuffed out.

         Sam eyed him for a long few seconds, like he could see the bullshit all over Dean’s face. When he finally spoke again his tone was controlled, contemplative. “When we were kids and you got in bed with me after a nightmare, what about then?

          “That was different, we were kids.”

          “So, what, we were kids.” He brushed that detail off easily. Sam could tell his brother was a hairs trigger from blowing up. “You weren’t creeping on me when we were kids, were you?”

          “Fuck!” Dean croaks and looks like he might vomit up his entire intestinal track. “God, no, Sam I’d never—”

          “Yea, Dean.” Sam agrees quickly, sourly, “I know you’d _never,_ not then and not now _._ So why are you acting like you can’t be trusted around me?”

          “It’s not that, I just don’t think we should do anything with the questing beast around!” Dean refused to let it go.

          Sam stood abruptly and extended his arms to display the accusation Dean was skirting around. “And what exactly are we doing?!” He shouted, resolve finally gone.

         “I don’t know!” Dean hollered back and simultaneously admitted that he did believe _something_ was going on. The silence that filled the room threatened to smother them both.

         After a few long minutes of scowling and silent contemplation Sam looked away again and muttered, “I won’t—” He stopped, bit his lip angrily. “I’m not going to force you, Dean. If you need space from me, then fine.” Neither of them were really sure if he meant force the other into co-sleeping or more. “Do whatever you want.” He crawled into the bed farthest from the door and dropped the conversation. They were tired. They needed sleep.

        Dean surprised them both when he turned off the light and got into Sam’s bed. He pulled up the blanket and slipped in behind his brother, laying on his back. Dean looked up at the ceiling and before he could get comfortable the other man was groaning—

       “…Dean,” Sam said it like a warning, like he was tired and didn’t want anything to do with the other man.

       It made the older hunter question his decision. Why was this so difficult? Did Sam want him here or not? It felt like they were constantly missing each other by a few seconds, never on the same page. Dean didn’t say anything, too busy gnawing on his lip in contemplation. He knew Sam was wide awake, uneasy. After spending months sharing a bed, they knew each other’s sleeping habits. They had so few secrets left now…and yet.

       “You don’t have to be over here, you know.” Sam sounded resigned, like he had given up, and his back was stiff. Turned on his side, Sam was literally giving his brother the cold shoulder.

      “I know.” Dean has one hand over his stomach and the other slung over his head as he tries to focus his eyes on a water spot on the ceiling. More accusatory silence filled the space between them. He wanted to apologize, make things right. He knew Sam was being patient with him, gentling him into coming around to some semblance of normalcy. He was grateful, really; if Sam were a lesser man he probably would have smothered Dean with a pillow by now. “I’m…look, Sam, I’m sor—”

      “Stop, just stop!” Sam snapped. “You’re never going to get over this and I hate it. I fuck _ing—”_ his voice snagged pitifully “hate it. I hate that you won’t stop treating me like glass. I hate that every time you look at me you look like you’re about to hurl. Things are never going to be OK and everything is fucked and I hate it so much so just, shut up.” 

      Dean twisted one arm to his side to lean over slightly. “Sam…” He floundered for something to say. Instincts to _do something_ were roaring through his veins, but he had no solutions. Dean moved one hand up and pulled on his brothers’ shoulder, trying to make him roll to face him.

      Sam shuttered, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to jerk farther away or acquiesce to his brothers tugging. “Dean,” his voice was a ragged warning, like he was trying not to cry. “Leave it, god just stop.”

      Dean looked on helplessly. He did this. He made Sam upset. Winchesters never learned to leave well enough alone, though, and Dean pulled with more insistence. This time Sam rolled over and into his brother. Dean wrapped his arms around the other and Sam tucked his face somewhere below his chin. “Fuck,” the older hunter felt lost.

      “I’m sorry,” Sam sniffed into the crook of his brother’s neck. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. I’m sorry.” His voice was thick and the collar of Dean’s shirt was growing damp from tears.

      Deans head was spinning. Why was Sam apologizing? “It’s…no, Sam it’s OK.” He didn’t even know what he was saying. The older man started stroking his brother’s hair and his back, soothing him a bit mindlessly. “We’re OK,” he repeated it for the both of them until sleep came.


	8. Call me a Freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes one last attempt to free Dean from his guilt at his own expense. An unexpected visitor arrives.

Chapter Seven: Call me a Freak   

Rating: Mature 

Summary: Sam makes one last attempt to free Dean from his guilt at his own expense. An unexpected visitor arrives.

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, confessions, original male character

Words: 3146

 

oXiiXo

      Dean woke and was immediately aware that he and Sam hadn’t separated much during the night. His brother was wedged up against his front; it felt like they were sealed together. Sam was still tucked under his chin, face pressed into Deans bare throat, and the blanket covered them both up to the shoulder.

      The older man considered for a moment on how he could move without disturbing his brother, but the feat seemed impossible. Sam’s hands were curled between them, resting below his own chin, knuckles gently laid against Deans chest. One of Sam’s longer legs were tangled between Deans. They could only be closer if they were—

      Dean needed to get out of this bed before Sam woke up.

      The older hunter squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on being very still. Then, he felt the softest tickle flutter across his throat. It was the fan of eyelashes. Sam was blinking. He was awake. “…Sam?” His voice sounded sleep-weak and unsure.

      “Good morning,” Sam returned in a clear and alert tone.

      “Sam, how long have you been awake?” He rolled his shoulders experimentally, to see if Sam would catch the hint and move.

      The younger brother shrugged lightly and shimmed around a little, but in no way separated from the other man. “Dunno, awhile I guess.” His breath was warm on his brother’s neck.

      “You could have got up, yah know?” He titled his head down just a little, pressing his mouth into Sam’s hair. It wasn’t a kiss.

      “It was kinda nice.” Sam pressed in closer, chasing body warmth. “You’re more bearable when you’re quiet,” the smile was loud in his tone. The older hunter was feeling more and more like maybe Sam had been awake for more than a couple of minutes.

      “Hey, I’m always a treasure.” Dean corrected automatically and tried not to think too hard about the fact he could feel his brother’s lips brush against his skin when he talked.

      “Sure.” Sam agreed flatly and inhaled, not trying to hide at all that he was breathing in the scent of morning-fresh Dean Winchester. “I’ve been thinking about last night….”

      “Hey,” immediately he worked on back-peddling. “S’alright, we both said some stuff we didn’t mean and we can just move on, yah know?”

       The younger hunter wouldn’t be deterred, though. “No, I…I owe you an explanation.” A long pause hung in the air and Dean felt a phantom itch break out across his back as he waited for Sam to gather his thoughts. “I…didn’t think I could say it before.” Sam continued, sounding timid. His arms locked up against his brother, stiff as a board. “Never wanted you to find out, but now I don’t think I really have a choice.”

      Dean felt his heart squeeze. He was preparing for the other shoe to drop. This was it.

      “Remember what being trapped by the djinn was like?” Sam sounds like he’s on autopilot, emotionally checked out but not cruel, just numb. “You told me it was like getting the one big wish you always wanted but it was fucked up, like biting into the best-looking slice of pie but it tasted like ass.” He laughed lightly, repeating Dean’s own words back at him. “For you that was having mom back, life like she never died. It should have been perfect, right?” He paused, but wasn’t waiting for the other man to respond. He was choosing his words carefully. “It must have really sucked to get your wish and things were still fucked. To have it turned into something like that…. it’s like a part of you dies.” Suddenly, he sounds like he’s talking from experience.

      Dean has no idea what this has to do with anything. He’s replaying last night’s conversation in his head, trying to figure out how djinn’s factor in and he’s coming up empty handed. Wisely, for now, he stays quiet.

      “That’s why I threw up,” it comes out as a whisper, like Sam can hardly get the words out. His voice is soft and distant. “I figured it out when I was young, maybe twelve or thirteen. At first I really thought I’d grow out of it, until I didn’t. Every time dad left I had it planned out how to ask you what was wrong with me. You have no idea, I almost told you so many times. I thought for sure you were going to figure it out and kick my ass, call me a freak…” He pauses, swallows, that word was like salt on all of Sam’s wounds. “You know, I was relieved when I found out about Yellow Eyes and the demon blood? I thought, maybe that explains why I’m like this…but I knew it was stupid to wish that we could ever—” he stops again like he realizes he’s rambling and none of this makes sense.

      When he starts talking again Sam has regained some control. “In Silver City, it was like I got my wish but it was so wrong, it wasn’t what I wanted at all. All I could think was _he’ll never want me like that now._ How fucked up is that?” He tries to scoff but it quickly morphs into a small, brief sob. “I didn’t break out in hives because I was scared of you; I didn’t throw up because I was disgusted. It was because I finally got a little piece of what I always wanted and it makes you sick. I knew it would end like this—you can’t stand to be around me but we don’t belong anywhere else and things will always be like this now. I remind you of the worst moment of your life.” Sam tenses against his brother, like he’s afraid he’s going to be thrown away. He holds his breath, waits.

      “What,” Dean started slowly. He felt like a cement block had been dropped on his back, pressing through his rib cage, down into the mattress. “Sam, what are you saying?”

      “You know what I’m saying.” To his credit, Sam didn’t scramble away, run out the door, lock himself in the bathroom, or carry on crying. He probably got all that out of his system last night. God, he’s been coming to terms with this all along, quietly, and Dean had no idea.

      The older hunter doesn’t move as he tries to process the unbelievable information now in his lap. It was disorientating. He thought back on every interaction, every moment between them. He never saw it. This couldn’t be right. Even now, knowing that there was something to look for, knew _what_ to look for, he had no evidence of Sam’s feelings. Dean did, however, gain the ability to look back on their previous conversation and read between the lines under this new context.

_I don’t want to forget…_

_You’re totally disgusted by the sight of me._

_I don’t want to think of it that way. You did not rape me._  
  
_Maybe I’m not OK with it, I’ve just had more time to sort it out._

_This has nothing to do with, with sex, right?_

_…it didn’t used to be such a taboo. It never used to bother you…yah know, me being near you._

_Dean, I’m not going to jump you or anything, Jesus._

_Yea, Dean. I know you’d_ never _, not then and not now._

_I won’t—I’m not going to force you, Dean._

_I’m sorry. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. I’m sorry._

 

      “Say something,” Sam demanded after several agonizing seconds of silence.

      “What do you want me to say?” The older brother shot back, sounding stunned.

      “I don’t know, anything?” Sam was suddenly frantic. “Call me a freak,” there’s that word again. “Disgusting, twisted, a sick fuck that wants his own brother? I probably deserve to be killed by the questing beast? Any of that stuff would probably cover it. God knows you can’t say anything I haven’t thought myself.” His voice is brittle, bitter. He’s mad at the universe and wants something to lash out at.

      Dean doesn’t want to say any of that, though. He wants to ask if that’s really what his brother thinks of himself. It breaks his heart.

      But then there’s a sudden and demanding knock on the door.

      Sam slides off the bed the same moment Dean grabs his barretta. They’re standing by the door, personal shit put on hold yet again, shoulder to shoulder. The cheap room doesn’t have a peep-hole, so Dean just opens the door, gun out of view, with Sam by his side.

      At the threshold stands a blond man, wider than Sam and just as tall. He’s got long hair neatly falling over his shoulders and an obnoxious cross dangling from a silver chain necklace.

      “Uh, can we help you?” Dean deadpans after looking the guy up and down.

      “My name is Pellinor, and I think we can help each other.” The stranger says and while Dean is scowling with disbelief, Sam remembers that name.

      “Pellinore?” The younger Winchester asks. “As in the Knight from Arthurian Legends?” _That hunted the questing beast._  

      The stranger appears unsurprised that he’s been recognized, as if it must happen all the time. “Yes, same as my father and his father, and his—”

      “OK, we get it,” Dean rolls his eyes. “Now is really not a good time.” If Sam was surprised Dean wasn’t jumping at the chance to avoid the shitstorm of a chick-flick moment behind them, he ignored it.

      “If you intend to hunt the questing beast tonight, then now is the only time,” Pellinor insisted with a stern glare.

      “Dean,” Sam intoned without looking at his brother. The oldest Winchester took a brief second to wonder if this was the future he had to look forward to—Sam avoiding his eyes for the rest of their lives. “We should listen to him,” the youngest suggested it warily.  

      Dean groaned, but dropped his arm from the door to allow Pellinor entrance into the room. “Sure, come on in, make yourself at home—s’not like we don’t have a history of attracting weirdo’s.”

      The stranger ignored Dean’s grumbling and sat down in the only available chair in the room. Sam sat at the edge of the bed that he had slept in last night with his brother, while Dean remained standing with his pistol in hand.

      Pellinore didn’t waste any time. He cleared his throat and pulled out a long, flat sheet of folded cloth from under his arm. “You hunt the questing beast, it’s how I found you. I also hunt the demon, as it is my family’s duty.” He sat the sheet of cloth across his lap. “I think we can help each other.”

      The older Winchester began protesting immediately. “Uh, no. No way. Trust me, dude, we don’t work well with others.”

      “So, you know how to kill it?” Pellinor asked quickly—to the point. He was not very conversational. In fact, Dean’s pretty sure he’s met ghosts with more personality.

      Dean frowned; they did not know how to kill the questing beast. This had been the major flaw in all their plans to hunt the thing and stay alive. He wasn’t about to admit that to this guy, though.  

      Sam tried to talk some sense into his brother. “Come on, hear him out. There’s nothing in dad’s journal about the questing beast and we haven’t been able to pull up shit online.”

      “Cause working with other hunters always works out so well,” Dean agreed sarcastically.

      “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Sam scrubs his face, tired already and it’s only 11:00 am.

      “I’m the stubborn one?” Dean laughs like a mad man, seemingly forgetting that they literally have an audience. “Pot, kettle, little brother.”

      “Just,” Sam bites out and his hands fly forward like he wants to choke his brother. “Just, listen to what he has to say—we don’t have many options, remember?” He might as well had literally hit Dean in the face with that comment.  

      Dean opened his mouth—slack jaw and at a loss for words—but Pellinor interrupted them. “You’re…brothers?”

      “Yea,” the younger brother answered quickly and it sort of made Dean’s head spin. Then again, what else would they say? They would always be brothers. “Sorry,” Sam shook his head again, scolding himself. “I’m Sam, this is Dean. We came here thinking it was a vengeful spirit and we don’t know how to handle a questing beast.” Lies peppered with truth. Dean sagged a bit in relief.

      Pellinore frowned, but proceeded to tell them what he knew about the questing beast and how to kill it. The information Sam had drudged up had mostly been correct, just incomplete. The questing beast was created after a woman made a deal with a demon to seduce her brother. The cost of her deal was not just her soul, but the soul of her first born and the girl had to lay with the demon. The girl agreed and her brother also came to her bed.

      When she got with child their father discovered what was happening between his children and the girl accused her brother of rape. While the brother was being ripped apart by their father’s hounds he cursed his sister to bear a monster that howled like the dogs. The brothers curse interfered with the deal his sister made with the demon and instead of bearing a soulless servant to the demon, she gave birth to the questing beast. It’s first act was killing its mother, and then anyone else who committed incest. 

      Sam asked if the questing beast was a monster or a demon, as that detail was still mostly unclear. It had been summoned like a demon, but it had a solid form and didn’t need to possess anyone. Usually, if something was corporeal they could kill it.

      “It is of a demon, but not a demon, like a hellhound. The demon who made the deal with the incestuous harlot did not mean to create it and questing beasts is more or less a free agent. Only especially old and powerful demons can control a questing beast, though I do not believe this is the case. This beast has been hunting on its own for several months.”

      Million-dollar question: “How do we kill it,” Dean asks tightly.

      Pellinor doesn’t answer right away, instead he unravels the slim package in his lap. It turns out to be a spear, separated into three sections. “Two things are required to kill a questing beast, the first is a spear.”

      Sam looks over at the disassembled spear and remembers some of the literature he read on the questing beast. One of the things that had confused him about the creature’s exact species was the common allusions to being a Christ-figure in the old texts. For example, Sam had only found one tale of anyone successfully killing a questing beast and it had been with a spear to the stomach—much like how Jesus was finally killed by being stabbed with a spear. Unfortunately, and correctly, Sam had assumed it would take more than just a spear to kill it.  “What’s the other component?”

      “I will tell you, but not until we have it cornered. I understand you do not want to work with me, but it is my family’s duty to hunt and kill the beast. I will not allow you to take on this task without me.”

      Dean groaned, “of course. Great.”

      Sam glared at his brother. “We don’t have a choice,” he said to Pellinor. “What else do we need to know?”

      The knight has a pinched expression on his face, but begins to assemble the spear. “It’s a simple beast, it wants to be hunted and will most likely seek us out if we draw near. It dwells in wooded area’s and has likely found a den nearby it’s hunting grounds, the sex-offender community.”

      “The community is in the middle of nowhere, nothing but woods for ten miles all around it,” the older Winchester points out. “That’s a big area to cover.”

      “Which makes it the perfect territory for the beast. It couldn’t have found a better hunting ground. Tracking it shouldn’t be difficult, but we’ll need to first wound it with the spear.  It will try to run away from us, but if we can follow it we’ll be able to deliver the final blow.” He was intentionally speaking around the missing piece, to ensure the Winchesters didn’t try to leave him out. “Here,” he handed the spear to Sam. “I have another spear in my room. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

      “Yea,” the brothers answered in unison. Somethings never changed.

      “Good,” Pellinor stood then. “I suggest taking one car, if that’s fine with you.” Obviously, he didn’t trust them not to leave him behind, still. “I’ll come back here in about an hour, I’m staying a few rooms down.” He explained and made for the door. 

      When he walked out the door the brothers were stuck alone, Sam still sitting on the edge of his bed and Dean standing nearby with his arms crossed. Awkward was an understatement.

      Sam didn’t look up at his brother as he rubbed his thighs nervously. “Can we just, wrap up this case first and then…whatever you’ve got to do afterwards, I’ll understand.”

      Dean wanted to argue. Whatever Sam was suggesting—he didn’t like how final it sounded. Did his brother expect him to pack his shit and leave him? “Sam…”

      “Please, let’s kill the damn thing.” He looks up then, anger in his eyes. “I get that you feel responsible for what happened, but I feel like I’ve had this coming for years, alright? This is literally my biggest fear in monster form trying to kill you, so _please_ just let’s kill the fucker and sort the rest out later.”

      “Alright,” Dean agrees gently. “Alright, Sammy.”

      They get dressed and pack up the impala efficiently. They want to be ready to leave the area quickly once they close this case. Pellinor gives them both the creeps, and the mere fact that he’s staying at the same motel is enough reason to not come back there tonight. Dean checks out of the motel while Sam waits back for Pellinor to rejoin them. The brothers avoid eye contact and talking unless it’s necessary. 


	9. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Pellinore go into the forest to confront the questing beast. The brothers find another monster.

Chapter Eight: The Hunt

Rating: Mature 

Summary: Sam, Dean, and Pellinore go into the forest to confront the questing beast. The brothers find another monster.

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, original male character

Words: 3146

 

oXiiXo

      The drive out to the woods surrounding the sex offender community is awkward, silent, and long. Pellinor sits in the back seat with a second spear assembled across his lap and Sam has the other. The knight occasionally offers advice and insight on how to track down the questing beast. They end up parking the impala in the woods near the slim field separating the wooded area and the sex offender community. The tree line hid the impala from the road, and the three men stalk into the forest.

      “You said it wants to be hunted,” Sam asked after they were a few yards into the forest.

      “Yes,” Pellinore answers in a monotonous tone. His spear is strapped to his back. “That’s not to say it wants to die, but it enjoys the hunt.”

      “Great,” Dean sighs and already sounds irritated. It’s early November and the sun will be setting in a few hours. Pellinor only had two spears, so Dean carries a pistol that apparently won’t work on the questing beast.

      The trio walks through the forest with Pellinor leading, Dean in the middle, and Sam holding up the rear. Sam keeps his eyes on Dean more than the forest and older Winchester tries to shrug it off. He also fights the urge to eyeball his little brother when he gets in view. It feels like they could slice the tension between them with a knife. If Pellinor notices anything, he stays quiet.

      They walk three miles and find nothing, now circling back the way they came when the sun starts to head west on the horizon. Pellinor keeps dropping little bits of information that Sam finds hard to believe. He half wonders if the knight is stringing them along, half expects him to turn on them while they’re buried too deep in this forest to get out.

      When they’re a quarter of a mile from the impala Pellinor stops them, “there.” He crouches down and points at a thicket not five yards from them, next to the mouth of a small lake. The shrubbery is moving like something big is behind it.

      Dean’s first instinct is to get between the threat and his brother, but Sam grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him back. He’s not the one with the spear, Sam reminds him with a glare, and they both hold their breath.

      The questing beast is more terrifying the second time. Maybe it’s the build up after all this time, or the added incestuous tension between the brothers that’s cropped up, but the damn thing looks bigger out here in the wilderness. Its head swiveled out of the shrubbery first, snake-like eyes huge and hungry. It looked right past Pellinor and zeroed in on the brothers.

      “Back up, let it come to us,” the knight advised and began to back up slowly. The beast crept forward, keeping pace with Pellinors decent and slowly revealed the rest of its massive body. Like before, it held the shape of a half leopard half snake creature. Grey scales were stamped into its head and neck into the wiry spotted fur of its chest. When its mouth parted to scent the air, it resembled a cat more than a snake, but the same eerier noise of dozens of hungry dog’s bursts from its mouth.

       “Aim for its side if it comes at you,” Pellinor was circling the beast with his spear at the ready. It was very obvious that the knight was hoping to be the one to kill it. Sam recalled, from his research, that none from Pellinor’s lineage had ever actually succeeded in killing a questing beast, even if their family had taken on the responsibility.

      The beast whipped his head to the left and snarled at Pellinor, clearly it understood what they were saying to some degree.

      “Foul thing,” Pellinor hissed and rounded on the beast. Sam and Dean stood back, watched for an opening as the knight and questing beast circled one another. “I’ll send you back to the hell from which you came, along with the sinners and sodomites!” Pellinor locks his arm, ready to plunge the lance into the questing beasts hide but the thing leaps high, avoids the spearhead all together and gets on top of the knight.

      The questing beast gets Pellinor on his back and the knight has to shove the spear handle into its mouth to keep it from biting him. This leaves the beasts sides open for attack, and Sam goes for it. He doesn’t throw the spear, but instead rams it into the things side, between its front and hind legs right along the ribs. The spear head snaps, leaving the sharpened point lodged within it.  

      The terrible howling noise intensifies and the questing beast writhes, its neck thrashing around wildly. Pellinor rolls away, spear in both hands, and before he can stand up the questing beast is running away, back into the forest toward the lake.

      “Now would be a good time to tell us how to kill it!” Dean snarls at Pellinor, who is a few steps behind them with the only remaining spear.

      “Water,” the knight shouts. “Submerge the wound in water and it will die.”

      “Great,” Dean snaps and wonders how they’re going to baptize a questing beast.

      “It wants to be hunted.” Pellinor reminds them and tightens his grip on the spear. “It’s headed toward the lake now.”

      Sure enough, at the end of the blood trail is the questing beast by the lake. Pellinor wastes no time and dives back into the fight. Sam and Dean stalk the other sides, essentially boxing the knight and beast in as they duke it out. Despite his posturing, Pellinor is no match for the beast even now that it’s been wounded. The beast snarls, terrible howls rolling out of its mouth, and knocks Pellinor back to the tree line with its tail as it rounds on Dean.

      It’s still growling, that horrific noise rumbling out of its throat sounds more unnatural than anything they’ve hunted in the past. Dozens of angry dogs, tearing into flesh. It’s like hearing your death before it happens and Dean’s face goes a bit pale even as he sneers at the beast, “c’mon fugly! What are you waiting for?” He’s backing up toward the lake, hoping the stupid thing will follow him into the water.

      It bears its teeth and crouches down; and, even if Dean looks resigned to take on the best with nothing but his hands, Sam’s not about to let that happen. When the questing beast looks ready to spring into the air Sam jumps forward, body colliding with the thing mid-air, and tackles it into the shallow lake water.

      “Sam!” Dean yells as soon as they hit the water, but he can’t see his brother over the beast thrashing around like it’s been possessed. He realizes with no small degree of horror that the water around the beast is bubbling, no, _boiling_ , and Dean wades into the water heedlessly.

      Even though the water feels a bit warmer than one might expect, it’s not scalding. The beast continues to thrash and gargle in the water. It’s neck rolls around wildly, jaws snapping at nothing as it dies violently. “Sam?” He repeats frantically, trying to look through the murky water to find his brother. He can’t see anything and starts to consider diving under when Sam surfaces a few feet away from the now sinking beast. It looks like its dissolving into the bubbles on the water surface.  

      “Dean,” Sam gaps as soon as he hits the surface and his brother is there in a second to help haul him out of the water. They get past the shore, the questing beast is nothing more than suds on the water’s surface, and Dean walks his brothers against a tree for support. “I’m fine, really,” Sam bats his brother away when he starts checking for wounds. The questing beast had large claws as well as a vicious bite. Sam slides down the tree and catches his breath. “Go check on Pellinor?” He wants some space, closes his eyes for a second.

      Dean looks reluctant to leave his brother, but they’re losing daylight and need to be leaving soon. He turns back to check on the fallen knight, who is staggering to his feet. He’s got that stupid spear in hand, probably pissed he never got to use it.

      “I’m fine,” he hisses at Dean once the older Winchester is a few feet away.

      “You sure? Looks like you rang your bell pretty good.” Dean asks, but he’s already turning around to go back to his brother. 

      Sam tries to enjoy a brief second of relief—the questing beast is dead. They’re safe. The demonic embodiment of all of his shame and fear is gone; at least his perversion wouldn’t result in his brother’s death. The sigh of relief was in his lungs and he opened his eyes again in time to see Pellinor walk up on Dean from behind and strike him in the back of the head. The sigh turned into a shout when Pellinor pointed the remaining spear at Dean’s prone form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note:   
> This is my least favorite chapter. The entire hunting scene is shit and I hate it…anyway, the next chapter is way more interesting.


	10. The Zealot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pellinor reveals his true motivations

Chapter Nine: The Zealot

Rating: Mature 

Summary: Pellinor reveals his true motivations

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, boys working it out, trauma, hurt/comfort, original male character

Words: 1767

 

oXiiXo

      The sigh turned into a shout when Pellinor pointed the remaining spear at Dean’s prone form.

      “What the fuck are you doing?” Sam took wide steps toward the overzealous knight. “Get the fuck away from him!” Big words for someone without a weapon.

      “Heathen,” Pellinor hissed and decided to ignore Dean for now, walking over his body. The fallen Winchester was face down on the floor, unconscious. It looked like he might be bleeding from the strike to the head. “You’re worse than the beast,” Pellinor turned the spear on Sam. “It is deviants such as you and your brother that gives it power.”

      The younger hunter halted, looking down at his brother and then back at Pellinor, “what are you talking about? We haven’t done anything.” He lied through his teeth. How could Pellinor even know? They hadn’t said or done anything around the other man.

      “Do not lie to me!” He roared. “Why do you think I even sought you two out? I know how the beast is summoned, and your... bond is well known.” He sneered, expressing just what he thought about their reputation as hunters and brothers. “I knew it was true the moment I saw you. I see the way you look at him, and did you think I wouldn’t notice that you only ruined one bed in your motel room. It makes me sick!”

      A cold sweat broke out on Sam’s neck. They had invited Pellinor into their room briefly this morning. He saw that only one bed had been used, saw the way Sam worshiped his brother, and assumed—well, correctly, right? At least, he was correct about Sam, not Dean. “It’s not him, he’s not like that.” Sam asserted, hoping it might be enough to save his brother’s life. “It’s just me, don’t kill him; it’s just me.”

     “You are both sinners,” Pellinor asserted with absolution and locked his arm for the second time tonight. This time he was ready to skewer Sam with the spear, not the questing beast. He looks insane and Sam realizes that the knight really means to kill them.

     “You’re crazy,” Sam observes with no small amount of dread. He can’t see Dean anymore, his vision is being obscured by Pellinor’s wide frame, and by the time his back hits a broad tree trunk he realizes he really doesn’t have a plan to get out of this one.

     “You are a filthy deviant for lusting after your own brother,” Pellinor snapped and walked the spear up to Sam. The point was pressing into the hunter’s chest now. It didn’t pierce the skin, but its barbed point promised to shred his heart. “You’re as guilty as that slut who sold her soul and body for her brother. Do not deny it! Your desires are unnatural. You’re twisted, sick, wired wrong.”  

      Sam has to fight the flinch he feels in his soul, because he had felt these things his entire life. He hated himself for being this way—not for being different but for being a burden on his brother. Pellinor was going to kill him because he was fucked up and had always been fucked up. “I swear, it’s just me—he doesn’t want me like that.” God, that hurt to say out loud but nothing could compare to being responsible for his brother’s death.

     “Then you know you deserve to die the same way as the questing beast, you freak.”

      A shattering explosion cracked through the forest and made Sam jump. His heart hammered inside his rib cage, but then Pellinor crumbled first to his knees and then toppled over completely. Behind him Dean stood, gun in hand. Sam had a second to consider that Dean had just _killed a man_ but then his older brother is staggering forward like he’s the one who’s been shot.

      There was blood drying on Deans neck from the head wound and there was a strange look to his face, somewhere between anger and relief. Sam feels frozen to the spot watching as his brother crashes into him, gripping him by the damp lapels of his open jacket. The younger man slouches between the tree and his brother; Dean sagged into him and it wasn’t clear who was holding up who.

      Dean blindly put his hands on his brother, checking for injuries again. “Sammy,” he said it like a question as he ran his hands over Sam’s arms and shoulders and chest, looking closely for spear-holes and other wounds. “It’s not true, OK?”

      Sam could barely even hear the other hunter talking. His ears were ringing from the impossibly loud gunshot and he felt exhausted from two back to back near death experiences. “Hu?” He was probably crashing, stunned from adrenaline and cortisol still poisoning his veins.

     “It’s not true,” Dean repeated again and gripped his brother’s forearms on both sides, squeezing gently. When he had recovered enough after the blow to the head he woke up to Pellinor’s rant. He kept thinking that Sam couldn’t die hearing those things about himself— _you’re worse than the beast, I see the way you look at him, filthy deviant, unnatural, twisted, wired wrong, freak…_ Dean had thought these things about himself after the event at the coven. The self-loathing was unbearable. Sammy didn’t deserve that. “You’re not a freak, I don’t think that. It’s not true.” He said it over and over, horrified to realize he had never said it before.

     “Dean?” Sam breathed, sounding awestruck, and looked down. Dean realized then that he had pushed his left hand up under Sam’s wet shirts to cup the side of his stomach and his other hand was on Sam’s hip. “Dean, what are you doing?”

      The older hunter tipped his head up and saw the unadulterated heat in his brother’s eyes. He had never noticed that before, no matter what Pellinor had said. Sam must have the restraint of a saint because he has kept this stamped down—Dean would recognize this look anywhere. He certainly would have noticed it from his own brother. It made his legs a little weak and he pressed in closer. Sam was cold, chilled from the lake water and the adrenaline drop, but his stomach was firm and smooth. He felt the instinct to wrap himself around his brother, keep him warm and safe. “I, I don’t know.” He admitted and shifted a fraction, pressing his mouth against Sam’s lips.

      The kiss was dry and chaste, but it shook Sam out of his daze. He moaned shortly, like he couldn’t help it, and tentatively dropped his hands on his brother’s hips. As much as he wants to grip and grind, he needs to let his brother drive this thing, make up his mind.

      Dean doesn’t try to deepen the kiss, instead he pulls away and comes back several times like he wants to stop but really can’t. He kisses Sam’s cheek, jaw, and neck. It was light, reaffirming, and overwhelming because maybe quick pecks weren’t overly sexual—they were siblings, they had kissed not totally unlike this when they were younger—but this _was_ different.

      Deans skin is buzzing. He’s a grown ass man, far from being a virgin, but he feels like he’s fifteen messing around in the backseat for the first time. Every sigh and slight movement from his brother is making Dean crazy and where the _hell_ did that come from. “Sam?” He asked again between kisses and felt his brothers’ big hands squeeze around his hips, fingers pressing into the small of his back. “Sam, what—” his words end on a gasp and he grinds his forehead into the juncture of the taller man’s neck and shoulder. He kisses the soft skin behind Sam’s ear because he can’t stop himself from doing it.

      Sam doesn’t know _what anything._ He doesn’t know what they’re doing, or what it’s going to mean later, or his own fucking name at this point. Dean stills against him and Sam whines quietly. He tightens his grip over his brother’s waist like he’s afraid Dean’s about to come to his senses and clock him.

     “We should,” Dean noses against the thick line of his brother’s neck as he talks. “We need to leave.”

     “What?” Sam croaks. He doesn’t feel confident he could stand without this tree supporting him right now, let alone walk away, and Dean is _kissing him._ All higher-order thinking has been drowned out by the sound of his own blood in his ears—then he looks over his brother’s shoulder and see’s that they’re less than five feet from a dead body. That killed the mood real quick.

      But, maybe that’s not exactly what Dean’s getting at because instead of pushing away from Sam, he smooths his hands up higher, rucking the shirts up more. Dean is still screwing his forehead into Sam’s neck, but now he’s bending down to watch while he does it so he can look at the long, tan expanse of his brother’s stomach. He can see how Sam’s chest is rising and falling and how the muscles of his abdomen look tight. Dean can see the worn and frayed knot of his brother’s old denim jeans, so broken in it looks like the button might fly apart if Dean glared at it.

      Privately, some dark part of Dean wants to consummate whatever this is between them with Pellinors rigor setting in just a few feet away, but practically this is probably a bad idea. They needed to get the hell out of here before someone came out to investigate that gun shot. “Come on, Sammy,” he huffs and releases the handful of cloth in his fists from his brother’s shirts. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

     “Uh, yea…right,” Sam still sounds dazed but he slides away from the tree and follows his brother. They both glare heatedly at Pellinor’s body. Dean has the presence of mind to pick up the spear and go through the dead man’s pockets to remove the room key and his ID. The less the police have to go on, the better.


	11. Reshape Our Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gives Dean another out, he doesn’t take it.

Chapter Ten: Reshape Our Bruises with Your Mouth

Rating: Explicit   

Summary: Sam gives Dean another out, he doesn’t take it.

Warnings/Tags: Graphic sex scene between two men, Incest, Dirty talk, Cursing, Boys work it out, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 5958

oXiiXo

        Getting out of town was a simple affair. They change their clothes on opposite sides of the impala, thankful they had the foresight to pack up their things beforehand. They head south without a firm destination. Dean stops them in east Iowa and, since they don’t have any leads for a new case, they agree to call Bobby in the morning.

       In the meantime, their new motel room is dark and chilly when they check in, but the sheets look clean. It’s as good a place as any to throw down the gauntlet, Sam thinks. “Hey Dean?” His voice is rough from disuse. They hadn’t talked much since putting Minnesota in the rearview.

       “Hn?” The older hunter drops his duffel between the two beds and tries to feign nonchalance, like he hadn’t kissed and felt up his brother a few hundred miles ago.

       Sam grimaces. His older brother looks so pensive but there’s a flush on his skin and his lips are slick like he keeps wetting them when Sam isn’t looking. He wants Dean to kiss him again, wants to have this and it _not_ be twisted. Instead, he blurts on an exhale, “you totally killed a guy.”

       The older hunter doesn’t even flinch at the comment. “He was picking on my little brother.” He says it like he beat up a common bully and straightens up a little. “You killed the questing beast.”

       “Yea,” Sam drops his duffel without ceremony. “They’re both dead, thank fuck.” Their most current nightmare was finally behind them.

       “Yea, Sammy,” Dean spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him. “We’re safe. This isn’t going to get us killed.”

       A gnarled mix of hope and confusion screws up Sam’s face, “this?” It’s one word and such a loaded question.

        Dean holds his breath and looks at Sam’s bed. He remembers the shouting match they had last night. He had been thinking about Sammy as a child, as a baby faced seven-year-old, when their argument about sleeping together really started. The combination made his stomach roll in disgust. He had been scared, but he admitted as much then as now— _something was going on._  There had been this thing lurking in his head since Sam confessed his feelings, maybe before then—definitely before then. Dean really didn’t want to think on how long. He always wanted to be close to his brother—emotionally, mentally, physically. That was natural. Sam was his entire world, always had been. Nothing and no one could ever be more than Sam. Whatever this was, it’s different or, maybe, it was just the natural summation of a lifetime of  _SamSamSam._

       “Wish you’d just talk to me,” Sam winces after a moment. He’s trapped, watching while his brother’s lizard brain tries to make sense of something Sam had never been able to fully grasp in over 20 years. How do you rationalize incest?

       “M’thinking,” the older hunter murmured and kept his eyes on Sam’s bed. He tried to sort his thoughts into neat piles: loving his brother and _loving_ his brother. He sat down on the edge of his bed and scrubbed at his face.

       Dean couldn’t untangle brotherly devotion and whatever the hell this was, but he couldn’t very well deny it anymore. The same dilemma kept gnawing at his cerebellum, chewing him up like piece of old gum. “How do you do it…how do you keep it straight in your head?” He asked vaguely, struggling with the words as clearly as he struggled with his thoughts.

       “What do you mean?” It’s dead quiet in a way that these flea bag motels rarely are—no passing cars, no humming neon lights likely to cause cancer, no overheard TV’s or fighting or fucking from behind thin neighboring walls. It was like they were alone in their own world. Considering their Twilight Zone life, they very well could be.

       The older hunter looks up, brow still smashed into concerned wrinkles. “I’m your brother and you…that’s not brotherly. How do you separate it in your head, when you think about me…as your brother and, and more?” Dean felt like he was making less sense the more he talks but still knows that his brother will understand him. Sam is good like that, well versed in Dean-speak.

       “I don’t,” Sam answered softly. He’s not sure if that’s the right answer, or what Dean wanted to hear, but it’s the truth. “I can’t distinguish the two. I’m in love with my brother.” Sam feels like he could implode, ashes spread to the four corners, because he’s really not sure which way this will go. By the look of his brother, Dean doesn’t know either. More than anything he wants an honest answer, but he can see how it twists Dean up. “I don’t expect anything from you, you know that, right? I just want us to be OK. That’s…that’s what’s important. I can live without everything else.” There, Dean has an out.

       Dean realizes his brother has been giving him chances to hide from this since it began. How many times have their conversations slid toward this direction, just for Dean to pump the breaks? He could do the same thing, now. Dean looks up from the edge of his bed and finds his younger brother watching him with worried eyes. He looks Sam up and down, really looks at him with the kind of attention he's been avoiding for months. God, he's big. Grew into every lanky inch that made him trip over himself at 17, and he's strong. Probably stronger than Dean by now, which should annoy him. It doesn't. 

       Sam tries not to fidget under the other man’s stare. Deans looking at him like he's hungry, but stuck. He takes a step forward, walks between his brothers open legs. “Whatever you want, Dean. You can do whatever you want,” he offers and hears the other man’s quick inhale.

      “I don't know if I can..." Desire and fear are gnawing away at different ends of Dean's resolve but his voice is noticeably lower. It gives Sam chills; it gives him hope. 

      “What do you want?" Sam is mercilessly, doesn't give the other hunter an inch of space to breath or think. He puts one big hand on his brothers shoulder, thumb burning into Deans neck. 

      Dean chokes, bows his head because he can't stand the intensity in Sam's eyes. "I can’t be the one..." He sounds wrecked and leans forward, pressing his forehead into his brothers stomach. He can't see Sam like this, but he can smell and feel his brother. It grounds him.  

      It's as if Sam has his brother in his arms, vulnerable and scared and it sets his world on fire. He doesn't want Dean scared. He drags his hand backwards, over the wide expanse of his brothers exposed neck and into his hair. "You need me to start it?" It feels like hes gentling Dean like a wild horse, all soft touches and a calm voice. Its not right—his ferocious brother hiding his face. 

       "Yes," Dean admits quietly and slides his hands up Sam’s thick thighs and sinks his fingers into his brothers belt on his hips. He holds on, still unable to look up.

       "OK," Sam agrees easily. "I can do that," the younger man pushes the other gently until he falls back on the bed.

        Dean goes back, feels like he's falling, and blinks up at the ceiling once before Sam's face is above his. The younger hunter moves slowly, brackets his brother with his arms at either side of his head and lays his hips down, pressing into Dean's body from his groin to his legs. Dean wraps one tentative arm around Sam’s waist and tries not to look terrified. He squirms, waiting for his brother to do something, but feels breathless when Sam finally speaks again.

        "You took care of me the first time," Sam says softly. He knows that's not what Dean wants to think about right now, but they have to start there. "In Silver City you kept us safe, like you always do." He kisses the other man gently on the lips even as Dean squeezes his eyes shut as if he could block out the memories that way. "Thank you," Sam kisses him again, this time under his left eye. "I didn't say it before but I should have," a kiss under his right eye. "You did what you had to, even though you hated yourself for it." Sam pauses, runs his fingers through his brothers hair and holds his neck. "Thank you for keeping us safe." An uncontrolled sob bursts through Dean's mouth on his next breath and Sam kisses him through that, too. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," is murmured again and again through kisses and they both know Sam's not just talking about the questing beast.  _Thank you for always keeping us safe. Thank you for always being there. This is why I love you._ Sam kissed his brother a dozen times, trying to fill up the self-perceived gaps in the other man's armor with reaffirmation.  _You didn't fail. I'm here, I'm safe._

           When Dean opens his eyes they're red-rimmed but his brother doesn't tease him for it. Instead, Sam kisses him deep and slow and it's nothing like the reaffirming pecks earlier. It's hot and full of tongue and maybe a little more than Dean was ready for but they're both moaning into it. He runs his hand up and down the small of Sam's back, lifting the shirt on the upstroke and Sam curves forward into his brothers neck to suck on the skin there. They're still moving slow, but the direction finally looks clear for both of them. "I love you, too, you know." Dean's voice is steady, sure, because he know's it's true even if he doesn't know all the ways he means it yet. 

        "Yes," Sam says into his brothers neck. "If I knew nothing else, I always knew you loved me." Any other day that might have made Dean roll his eyes but right now it just feels like praise, like the best kind of heat in his chest. “C’mon, let me take care of you this time.” Sam says between kisses and shucks his jacket and shirts. When they’re over his head and on the floor Sam rears up to straddle his brother and bathes his nude upper half in dim motel light.  

      Dean grabs his brother by the hips. He admires the sharp bones of his pelvis, the taut lower stomach, and firm abdominal muscles leading up to Sam's wide chest. Sam is built, and firmly masculine, and usually the complete opposite of what Dean looks for in a lover, but god help him—his brother is hot. "I keep waiting for this to feel weird,” he admits while still eyeing the other man’s chest.

        Sam rocks back and down, grinding his ass into the hot crease of his brother’s groin and Dean watches with an open mouth. “It’s not, it’s just us.” In a way, Sam repeats what he said earlier. There is no way to untangle them. Whatever they are, whatever they do, this is his brother. That won’t change. "Would you tell me to stop?"  The younger man asks as he slips one warm hand under his brothers shirt, keeps it there just above the waist of his jeans, but continues to roll his hips. It's very distracting. 

      "I don't want you to," Dean arches up into the rocking motion above him and feels momentarily stunned. He's getting hard, and god it's been awhile. "Fuck," his head tipped back on the mattress. "That feels good, don't stop."  

      "Not what I asked." Sam redirects him gently but grins, clearly proud of the state he's left his brother in. "Would you tell me to stop if you weren't into it?" He stops moving and pins Dean with his eyes. The truth is, Dean isn't sure if he would stop his brother. "I want you to stop me if you don't feel right. Just say stop, and I'll pull back, OK?" 

      The older hunter melts back into the sheets, "I'm not a virgin, Sammy." 

      "Yea but you get me excited like one, and I need this to be good for you." He ducks down again to kiss and nose at his brothers neck. "Tell me what you like." His hips begin to roll again, sliding in smooth circles over Dean's erection and the older hunter bucks up. 

      "This, you, whatever you want," he surrenders. 

      "Hmm," Sam doesn't seem immediately interested in pressing for more details and instead focuses on removing Dean's shirts. "Want to see you." 

       Dean smirks, “impatient much," but shifts up so his shirts can be stripped away.

       “You have no idea," Sam doesn't try to hide it. He paws at his brothers exposed skin with one hand and palms at the hot outline of Dean's cock with the other. "Fuck, you're hard." Sam sounds amazed. "Fucking hard for me, Jesus Christ."

      Dean is slack-jawed and grinding his hips mindlessly, seeking friction through the denim that is both too much and not enough. "Yea," it feels like he might be blushing. He's hard for the first time in months because _Sam_ is groping him, and looking at him like he's precious, and saying these things. He bucks into his brothers hand and marvels at the lack of disgust he feels. He wants more.

       "Think you could come like this," Sam asks with a dumbstruck expression that really does make him look like a handsy virgin. 

       Dean’s hips stutter unevenly and he thinks _definitely,_ but that isn’t what he wants right now. “Some other time, little brother." 

      Sam’s pupils are blown wide. "Say that again,” he demands in a throaty voice. 

       It takes Dean a second to realize what exactly Sam's talking about, but once the light bulb goes off he smirks. “Fuck, you really get off on the little brother thing, don’t you?” He sits up slightly using his elbows. 

       Sam looks his brother right in the eye and admits, “yes." He says it with enough heat to melt them both and shoves his hands between them to work off Dean’s pants.

       When Sam manages the button and fly, Dean squirms away to rips off the offending items, jeans, boxers, boots, socks, and when he returns to the bed he's got something else in mind. "I wanna try something. Lay back, Sammy." His brother obeys faster now than he ever has on any hunt and falls back on the bed wearing jeans and a hard on. Dean looks him up and down; he likes what he see's. "Fuck you're hot. How did I never see it before?" He crawls forward and reverently presses his face into the line of hair above Sam's groin.

         “Sometimes,” Sam sighs and runs one hand through his brother's hair. “I swear, sometimes I thought you felt it too, you just weren't ready.”

         Dean looks up for a second, admiring the long expanse of Sam's muscular torso. "I think you're right, but I'm ready now," he answers and only sounds a little nervous when he eyes the tent in his brothers pants. “Full disclosure,” Dean says in a deep voice and runs his hands up Sam’s thighs. “I’ve never done this before, but I really want to blow you, little brother.”    

         “Shit,” Sam sounds gut punched and his head flops back as if his neck gave out. “Yea, yea, if you want to, please.”  

          His only experiences with blow jobs are from receiving them. Maybe Dean had thought about it, in a smoky bar when a good-looking guy gave him the up-down, but it never happened. Too many willing girls, and those never got old. He wants this to be good, though, and his brother is  _definitely_ not a girl, if that flashlight sized bulge is anything to go by. Dean groans appreciatively, “damn, Sammy," and starts to peel back the denim. Sam lifts his ass off the mattress enough for his pants to slide down and now the only thing separating his brother and his dick is a pair of well-loved green boxers. Dean eyes the sizeable bulge briefly before rubbing his nose and cheek against it until Sam moans. Dean finds some courage he didn’t know he had and pulls back the elastic band. When Sam’s dick swings back Dean almost has second thoughts. It’s rather big, bigger than it looked while still encased in underwear and Dean is again reminded he has no experience sucking dick. But, at the same time, his mouth waters.

        The older hunter feels Sam’s fingers carding through his hair and looks up to see his brother watching him. Dean holds eye contact as he wraps one hand around Sam’s dick and sucks the head into his wet mouth.

        “Oh, my god,” Sam groans at the sight and throws his hips down, clearly fighting the urge to swing back up into his brothers mouth. “Fuck Dean, you have no idea how long—uhg, I can’t even believe—”

        Dean closes his eyes and focuses on the feel and shape of his brother heavy in his mouth. It’s not unpleasant and Dean quickly finds himself getting caught up in the sensation. He takes a little bit more of Sam’s dick, saliva easing the way down and swallows. His hand works the length that he can’t fit in his mouth and soon he’s bobbing his head and working the coil of his fist to a quick pace. It’s overwhelming and suddenly Dean understands why some girls get so into it. All he can see and smell and taste and feel is Sam and his thick cock sliding between his swollen lips. Dean moans and grinds himself into the mattress, getting off on having his brother shoved down his throat.

        Sam blurts more precome and sputters nonsense, “shit, fuck, you're so hot Dean. I fucking love you, love your mouth on me. I never thought I'd get this. Don't stop, _don't stop._ ”

        Dean moans, greedy for the praise and the hypnotic sensation of his brother’s dick plunging into his mouth. It's addictive and he runs one hand down Sam's thigh to his balls. He pulls back his mouth but keeps both hands busy as he asks with a rough voice, “wanna come in your brothers mouth?” He might have to admit that Sam’s not the only one who gets off on the _brother_ kink. 

       “Jesus, Dean,” Sam rocks his hips up, fucking into his brother’s hand.

       “That wasn’t an answer, Sammy.” Dean points out but lowers his head to the other man’s dick. He’s breathing over it now, teasing his brother in a decidedly unbrotherly way. “C’mon, wanna hear you say it.” He swirls the flat of his tongue over the sensitive head and jacks him slowly, but doesn’t do more than that.

       “I want to come in your mouth,” Sam cries and clenches his fits into the comforter. “Dean, Dean, Dean, please fu _ck—”_ his voice cracks when Dean swings back down, taking as much of his brothers dick as he can. “Oh, god, oh, fuck,” Sam is helpless against the desire to pump his hips shallowly and _Dean lets him,_ just takes it like it’s nothing. He digs his hands into his brother’s short hair and reminds himself not to hold down. “I’m close, Dean, I’m so fucking close,” he warns frantically and his brother grips the meat of Sam’s thighs with both hands and moans loudly like— _god,_ like he’s begging for it—and Sam comes so hard his vision blurs.

       Dean sucks him through it, accepts the eruption of semen in his mouth and is more surprised than horrified that he doesn’t mind the taste. When he finally pulls back Sam looks thunderstruck, sprawled out on the mattress with his hair messed up and sweat coating every inch of the man. Blissed out looks good on his brother, Dean decides. He crawls up Sam’s body, kissing all the exposed skin he passes on the way until he reaches his brothers face and tries to kiss him back to consciousness.

       “Hmm,” Sam moans mindlessly but arches his head up to meet his brothers mouth. “Holy shit,” he mutters between kisses, “Dean, man,” the older hunter isn’t letting him get more than two words in at a time.

       “You better wake up, Sammy.” Dean warns with a smile and grinds into his brother’s thigh, but really, he’s very proud of himself. “Can I fulfill anymore of your teenage fantasies?”

       Sam groans at the thought and kisses back with more force, biting his brothers lip and wrapping his arms around the other man. “How about all of them?” He can still feel the hard heat of his brother’s erection burning into his stomach and slows down their kissing, gives his brother more tongue and lets his hands roam. “Dean?” He asks quietly while licking his own come out of his brothers mouth.

       “Hm?” Dean doesn’t even try to stop the kiss, intelligible responses and oxygen be damned.

       “Dean, I want you to fuck me now,” he tightens his arms around his brother because he knows there’s a good chance he’ll try to roll away.

       And Dean does pull back slightly, looks down at his brother with unsure eyes. “I uh, can’t we work our way up to that fantasy?” He tries for humor, but the fear is still there. They had just faced the questing beast a few hours ago and the danger—guilt—was still fresh.  

       Sam grins gently. “Actually, I mostly thought about it the other way around.”

       Dean’s stomach does a flip and he’s simultaneously feeling terrified, curious and aroused—but Sam starts talking again before he can wrap his head around that scenario.

       “But right now, I want you inside me.” Sam grabs his brother’s ass, pulls him in closer. “Let me show you it can be good for both of us.” He rolls his hips up and pulls Dean down with his hands. He’s already getting hard again just thinking about it.

       “I thought you hadn’t done anything like that before.” He remembers Sam telling him he wasn’t gay.

       “I hadn’t, not with a guy.” He lets that implication sink in and hears his brother groan. “Never been into guys, Dean, just you." He runs his tongue across his lower lip contemplatively. "When I was, like 16, I thought about it a lot. I wanted you to be my first. I imagined us in the backseat of the impala one weekend when dad was away. I heard girls talk about you—” he laughs—“heard you talk about you, I knew you’d make me feel good.” During his monologue Sam started rolling up into his brother, pawing with big hands.

      Even as he’s trying to find an excuse to put this off, Dean feels a little light headed at the blood loss. His dick _does not_ have any reservations about fucking his brother, apparently. “Christ,” Dean hangs his head next to the other man’s shoulder and grinds down. “Fuck, Sammy,” he groans into his brother’s ear and bites it.      

       “Dean,” Sam says urgently, knowing he’s convinced his older brother and kisses him firmly. “Go,”  _kiss_ “get”  _kiss_ “the lube.”

       The older hunter stumbles out of bed and locates his duffel. He knew he had lube and condoms tucked away in there, even if it had been months since he looked for the items. When he fished out the bottle and strip of foil packages he wondered if Sam would want the condoms. They hadn’t used them before, and they had both been to a clinic since then. He grabbed them anyway.

       When Dean turned around he saw that his brother had kicked away his pants and boxers that had been bunched around his knees and was now laying vertically, rather than across the middle of the bed. He was also stroking himself slowly, already looking hard enough for round two. Dean tosses the materials on the bed and crawls up Sam’s body.

       Sam bends his knees slightly and spread his legs, making space for his brother to slot between them perfectly. They're kissing immediately and it should feel weird how quickly Dean has gotten addicted to having his brothers tongue in his mouth, but he can't be bothered with that right now. It's Sam who eventually pulls back with a protest, "Stop stalling. C’mon, finger me open.”

       “Jesus, Sam,” Dean curses and blindly fumbles for the lubricant. His forehead is mashed into his brothers when he pops the cap and gets a sizable glob of slick on his finger. Sam’s jaw falls open at the first cool, wet press between his legs and Dean’s not even breaching him yet.

       “Yea,” Sam breaths into his brother’s face and spreads his legs farther apart.

       Dean reared back onto his haunches to get more leverage and a better view. The last time this happened he had tried to take a clinical approach; his only intention had been to save Sam discomfort. This time he wanted to rock Sam’s world. He sat back farther and bent forward, pressing his face into his brother’s sac and mouthed at the sensitive skin there. Dean was doing all sorts of things out of his usual comfort zone, tonight.

       When Sam gasped at the added sensation Dean sunk the first slicked up finger into him down the knuckle and they both groaned. Sam was hot and tight and Dean needed to pinch his own dick with his free hand to keep from getting carried away.

       “Ah, that feels good.” Sam encouraged him and pressed his feet into the mattress. “Gimme more, not gonna break, Dean.”

       The older hunter huffed, but complied by slicking up a second finger and rubbing it against his brother’s rim. He wasn’t rushing anything, no matter how much Sam begged for it. “You’re gonna take it slow because that’s how I want it,” he lightly nipped at his brother’s thigh in warning.

      Sam’s dick jerked, blurted more precome, and Dean screwed the second finger in and hooked the digits on the upswing. “Fuck,” Sam choked and threw his hips down, grinding himself on his brother’s fingers. “Shit, yea, there!” He directs and screws his eyes shut.

       At first Deans so startled by the outburst he stops and then he’s too mesmerized at the sight of his brother fucking himself on his fingers to do anything. “You like that, Sammy?” He asks with a sloppy smirk and jacks his fingers in the same direction, totally blown away with how Sam takes it so easily and keens for him.

       “Yea, _fuck,_ you hit that same spot last time. God, I thought you were going to be able to tell I liked it—” he’s babbling again, helpless. Dean adds more lube to his two fingers and holds his brother open with the other hand before really going at it, digging the digits in quick and deep and at the perfect angle. “ _Guh_ ,” Sam gasps and goes ridged. “Shit, fuck—Dean!”

       “You’re taking it so well,” he praises and gently strokes his brothers raised thigh. The slow caress is a sharp contrast to his fast darting fingers. Dean watches the younger man writhing on his back, looking fucked stupid, but slows down to a more manageable pace. Dean adds a third finger and moans at the sight—Sam’s body is tight but flexible, stretching around the girth of three fingers like it’s nothing. “What’s it feel like? Tell me, little brother, you like me working you open?” His voice is low and sexy and everything Sam’s sex-addled teen brain thought it’d be a decade ago.

       “Oh,” Sam gasps and his spine snaps him right off the bed. His mouth is hanging open and he tries to look down, to watch his brother open him up with three thick fingers and his eyes nearly roll back. “It feels,” he groans again when his brother hits his prostate, “fucking full. It burns but it’s good,” he’s nearly sobbing on the words. “I like it, like feeling you move inside me,” his face is burning with the omission but god they’re both getting off on it.

       Sam’s practically swallowing his fingers and Dean thinks he’s ready—past ready—to take his dick now. He looks at the foil wrappers on the bed and has to ask, “you wanna use a condom?”

       At first it looks like Sam doesn’t hear him, too busy riding his brother’s fingers, but after a second he answers, “only if you want to.”

       Dean decides that no, he doesn’t want to, and gently pulls his fingers free. Sam groans at the loss; his hole is left gaping and empty. “Hold on, hold on I’ve got you.” Dean murmurs and slicks himself up from root to tip. He might be a little too liberal with the stuff, but Sam can tease him about it later. He walks on his knees until he’s flush against his brother’s thighs, holds his dick against Sam’s hole but then his brother stops him—

       “Dean, wait.” Sam shuffles his arms behind him again and props himself up, moves like he’s trying to sit up.

       “What’s wrong?” Dean asks immediately and feels like his heart might stop.

       “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.” Sam smiles and bites his lip. “I want you to take me from behind,” he explains quietly and watches the mix of emotions flashing across his brothers face.

       “I…” Dean frowns. He doesn’t want it to be like last time when he couldn’t see his brothers face during. He had been a coward then, but this time it should be different. “I want to be able to see you.”

       Sam’s expression softens even more because he must know what’s going through his brother’s head, but he doesn’t let it go. “Next time you can have me any way you want but, look, I want to burn that other memory out of your head. When you think about me being on my hands and knees for you, I want you to think about this, right now, not about whatever happened in Silver City.”

       They had come to different conclusions, but their intentions were basically the same. “Alright,” Dean agreed and they rearranged themselves on the bed with Sam on his hands and knees and Dean kneeling behind him.

       The older hunter put both hands on his brother’s hips, and then trailed his hands up the other man’s back. There were no red blotches marring the tan expanse of his muscled back this time, nothing to indicate that this wasn’t exactly what Sam wanted. He dug one hand into Sam’s shoulder and ran the other hand up and down his flank. “Fuck you look so sexy like this,” he murmured it, like he was fessing up to something.

       Sam rolled his hips back and Dean's dick slid between his legs, dragged over his hole briefly. “I want it, want you now, big brother.”

       Dean screws two fingers back into the other man, just to make sure he was still loose and open enough to take more. He was. Dean groaned as he watched his fingers disappear and Sam arched his back, gave him a better view.

       “You like watching?” Sam sounded breathless.

       “Fuck yea, Sammy.” He gripped himself with his other hand and held Sam open using his slicked fingers already inside him. “Ready for it?”

        “Yes, now, fucking tease.” Sam writhed back and Dean began to press in slowly, but steadily. Sam let out one loud, low, moan and took it all inch by inch until Dean was flush against his ass. “Shit,” Sam cursed and rocked back experimentally, causing his brother to choke and dig his fingers into his sides.

       “Wait, fuck, Sam…just wait a second.” It had been too long since his dick was interested in anything, and now he’s likely to shoot off if Sam clenched too tight.

        “What’s the matter,” Sam, the little shit, seems to know exactly what’s going on and smirks over his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re a quick-shot—ah, hey!” He yelps when his older brother smacks him on the ass cheek.

        “Shut up,” Dean grumbles but starts to roll his pelvis in slow, deep thrusts that really do shut up his little brother immediately. He had wanted to touch every inch of Sam’s body last time, remembered the urge to smooth his hands up and down his back and chest but resisted—he didn’t have to hold back this time. Dean’s hands were everywhere; scratching down his brothers back, around his hips and rubbing up his chest and stomach down where Sam’s cock swung heavy between his legs. “You picked the position, I get to set the pace.” He tried for a growl, but it might have been too breathless.

       Sam just groans, nods his head, and rocks back to meet his brothers slow thrusting that threatens to eat him up like flames. It’s driving him crazy. “Just a little more, please Dean— _ah,_ fuck yes, _ah!”_ Dean skewers his prostate with his blunt dickhead and Sam almost blacks out. “Just like that, just like that…” He grits his teeth and doesn’t even try to touch himself.

       Dean curves his back slightly so he can look down, watch as Sam takes his dick so easily. It’s hot, maybe the hottest thing he’s ever seen. There’s no shame and no guilt chewing him up as he watches Sam grinding back, bouncing on his length. Sam moans deep and throaty and Dean picks up the pace just to keep his brother making those sounds. “Fuck, this is perfect. You’re perfect.” They’ve remade the terrible memory behind them, like sucking on a bruise to change its shape. 

       “Yes, yes, yes,” Sam grips the bed sheets and throws his ass back, finally coaxing Dean into really giving it to him. "You feel so fucking good."

       Dean sounds like he’s going to shake apart and knows he’s either going to come or die any second now. He reaches for his brothers swollen dick with his lube-slick hand and Sam fucks his hips into the tight coil of Dean’s fist, totally unhinged and wild beneath the other man.

        Dean's moans, “come for me, come on your big brother’s dick,” and they both lose it. Sam falls on his forearms, moaning open-mouthed, face first into the pillows as Dean holds his ass high by the hips and slams home. Sam comes all over his stomach and the mattress with a slack jaw and Dean throws his head back, riding his brother through his own orgasm.

        They rock through it and slow their hips gradually, never losing rhythm with each other. Dean runs a dry hand up and down his brothers sweaty back, appreciating the view before he mutters, "gonna pull out, now."

      Before Dean can do that, Sam rears back on his knees, with his brother still buried balls deep, and presses his back into Dean's chest. “Fuck, Dean,” he sighs and drops his head backward, resting on his brother’s shoulder. He blindly finds sweaty patches of skin on the other mans neck to kiss. Dean is still high from his orgasm and wraps both arms around the other man, looks down their bodies and it still doesn’t feel weird. Huh.

       “I love you,” Sam sighs into his brother’s ear and that, even in all its many meanings, isn’t weird either.

       “I love you, too.” Dean squeezes the younger hunter once and then gingerly pulls out. “C’mon, no way we’re sleeping in this bed tonight.” He tugs his brother to the other, untouched bed. Sam is pliant and has a stupid sleepy smile on his face when he hits the clean sheets. Dean would tease him for it, but he’s pretty sure he looks just as stupid.    


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Ending, plus I also wanted Top!Sam and messing around at Bobby's

Chapter Eleven: Epilogue

Rating: Explicit   

Summary: Happy Ending, plus I also wanted Top!Sam.  

Warnings/Tags: Graphic sex scene between two men, oral sex, rimming, anal sex, Incest, Dirty talk, Cursing, Happy ending, sex at Singer Salvage *first time writing a rimming scene*

Words: 4,443 

 

oXiiXo

        Bobby had only one spare room. When Sam and Dean were kids it was normal for them to share that room, and the bed. When they started hunting together again Dean would take the sofa down stairs, where their father used to sleep, and Sam went to the bedroom. Bobby didn’t mention it when Sam and Dean both took their duffel bags upstairs.

      From the kitchen Bobby hollered, “I can heat ya up some dinner, got some lasagna in the fridge.” He was already puttering around, moving plates and such.

      Sam sat on the queen-sized mattress, dusty and worn. It had a wire bed frame and it squeaked mercilessly. He watched his brother bend over, riffling through his bag, and listened to Bobby downstairs. It was oddly thrilling, listening to the closet thing they had to family thump around a few feet away while he eyed Dean. The younger hunter moved quickly but quietly and walked behind his brother so that when Dean stood, they were nearly back to front. “Lasagna sounds great, Bobby.” Sam shouted over his brothers shoulder and watched Dean jump as he realized how close they were. Sam didn’t let him squirm away, though, and instead pulled his brother closer by the hips and nosed his neckline.

      “What are you doing,” Dean hissed and jumped in his brother’s arms. “Bobby is right down stairs,” he was whispering nervously. They had driven to Singers Salvage the next morning after Bobby invited them to rest up for a few days. Sam had agreed, even though Dean had been shaking his head  _no_  furiously in the background.

      “What does it look like I’m doing?” Sam asked and nipped the back of Dean’s neck. His older brother was blushing and it made him hard. He rocked forward so Dean could feel it and the shorter man nearly yelped.

      “Are you frickin serious?” Dean sounded irritated and scandalized, but he pressed backward into the other regardless. “This morning wasn’t enough?” They showered together and Sam had lathered him up under the spray, scrubbed every inch of Dean’s body. It felt like worship before Sam stroked them off with one, big, soapy hand. Dean felt drugged on the steam and orgasm when he stumbled out of the bathroom.

       Sam snorted, “hell no,” and started working his brothers belt.

       “If you wanted some, you should have thought about that before you brought us here!” Dean squawked and batted the other man’s hands away. He whipped around and noticed, horrified, that the door was wide open and then glared at his brother. Sam looked fifty kinds of pleased “...you little fucker, you wanted to mess around at Bobby’s.”

       Sam smirked and rocked back on his heels. “Why not?”

       Downstairs the microwave chimed. “Dinners on the table,” Bobby barked from the kitchen. Dean saw an opportunity and bolted toward the open door. Sam let him go, following close behind with raised eyebrows and eyes on his brother’s ass.

       They bound down the steps like children. Dean pushed his brothers face into the wall, nearly taking out a picture on the staircase and Sam yanked his brother back by the collar of his shirt. No matter what else was going on in the world, they were always thankful for Bobby’s home cooked meals and the easy company. They felt safe here.

        They came to the table out of breath and Bobby tried to hide his smile by rolling his eyes. The three hunters tucked in and talked shop while they ate. Bobby asked a few questions about their last case and Dean did his best not to look bashful as Sam gave vague not-lie responses. The older Winchester warmed up, eventually, and began to lean into his brother’s side. They elbowed each other, laughed, and Sam stole food from Dean’s plate.

      “You two seem,” Bobby paused and his eyes darted between the brothers warily, “giddy.”

      Dean dropped his fork and smile; Sam leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “Post hunt high,” the youngest man explained.

      Bobby squinted, looked more skeptical than anything, and wiped his face with a napkin. “Just happy to see you two actin’ like brothers. Ya’ll were frigid as an Eskimo’s ass last time I saw you.” He got up, clearing the table of the dishes and went to the kitchen.

      Dean kicked his brother under the table and Sam slapped him on the head.

      “You boys ever heard of a questing beast?” Bobby asked from the kitchen and the Winchesters stopped mid-tussle.

      “Uuh, no,” Sam said and lightly hit his brothers chin to close his open mouth. “What’s that?” He asked as Bobby walked back to the table with three beers.

      Bobby had pushed his cap farther back on his scalp, which he usually did when he was thinking hard and scratched his head. “Old demon, they feed off people who, uh, sleep with blood relatives. Some hunters in New Mexico said they caught wind of a coven that might have been trying to summon one a few months ago. Weren’t you boys down that way awhile back?”

      If the silence wasn’t damning, the fact that Dean’s face paled immediately sure was suspicious. “Er, were we?” Dean squeaked and looked to his brother for support.

      “Yea, maybe, I think so,” the youngest hunter sounded more amused than anything.

      “Uh-hu,” Bobby looked at his bottle like it was the most interesting thing in print. “You…notice anything weird while you were there?”

      “Nope,” Dean chirped and quickly drained his beer.

      Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward on his elbows. “You think the coven succeeded?”

      The older hunter took a long swallow, finishing his drink, and gave the brothers a hard look. “Nah, probably not.” Another beat of silence swelled between the three men. “Alright, I’m turning in. One of you fools better make me breakfast in the morning.” He squeezed Dean’s shoulder as he walked past.

      The brothers waited until they heard the soft click of Bobby’s door before rounding on each other. “Bobby knows,” Dean gulped.

      “Bobby totally knows,” Sam agreed.

       The older Winchester groaned and dropped his head on the table. “Think he cares?”

       “Pretty sure we just got the Singer equivalent of a blessing, actually.” Sam only sounds a little surprised, but he’s already moving his hands over the small of his brothers back.

      “Could you stop,” Dean snaps but his eyes are alight with playfulness. He’s finding his brothers behavior endearing and fun. Since Sam got the green light, he had been like an octopus. They made out half a dozen times since they woke up and it took Dean most the day to notice that a good decade’s worth of shit had settled between them in order to make room for this new thing. They were too busy celebrating to dwell on old bones. Dean wasn’t an idiot; he knew that this wouldn't solve all their issues, but he wanted to ride this wave as long as possible.

      “I really can’t,” Sam husks sarcastically and pulls Dean’s chair forward.

      The legs of the chair screech across the floor and Dean flies forward, gripping his brother’s shoulders to stop the movement and noise. “Shh, geez he’s still awake!”

      “Then we should go upstairs,” Sam looks like he’s ready to haul his brother into his lap and defile one of Bobby's well loved kitchen chairs. 

      Dean is equal parts annoyed and horny. In true Dean Winchester fashion, he decides on horny and stands up slowly. “If you think you can be quiet, tiger.” He gives his brother bedroom eyes all the way up to the second floor and Sam follows.

      “You’re the one I’m worried about,” Sam counters and shuts their door.

      When Dean looks over his shoulder he can see a predatory shine in his brother’s eyes and is again momentarily stunned that he never noticed it before. Sam must have had one hell of a damn built up around all this pent-up desire, and now Dean is finally on the receiving end of that force. It made his legs feel a little weak. “Tryna say you’re gonna make me scream, Sammy?” Dean puts on his best  _come fuck me_ smirk and starts to remove his shirt.

      Sam leans against the closed door, arms crossed, looking like the cat who ate the canary and enjoying the show. “Trying to say I can’t?” The challenge was out and Sam pushed against the door. He walked into his shirtless brother's chest and they move to the bed.

      Dean laughs, “I think I know what you have in mind, little brother.” He tilts his head up, a novelty he might never get used to, and lets Sam devour his mouth.

      “Oh?” Sam asked between licking and sucking on his brother’s lips. His hands are back on the other man’s belt, making quick work of the buckle and then the button of his jeans.

      “You’ve been eye-fucking my ass all day,” Dean accuses but he’s not offended. Sam had said as much yesterday that he was interested in having this go both ways and while, theoretically, Dean is down with that…he’s also seen his brothers dick.

      “That a problem?” Sam asks as the other man goes down on the bed, looking like a spread of Sam’s favorite foods with no shirt and his pants open in invitation.

      “No problem,” Dean says agreeably and folds his arms behind his head.

      “Good, because you’re totally right.” Sam gets on the bed and kisses his brothers neck and chest while his hands blindly fumble with Dean’s pants.

      The older hunter squirms, assisting as much as he can, until he’s completely naked under his brother. He would complain, being bare-assed on the bed while Sam still had his fucking boots on, but it was also kind of hot.  He grinds up, riding his brother’s denim clad thigh and watches Sam’s face darken.

      “Jesus Dean,” Sam already sounds a little wrecked and presses the heel of his hand against his own erection.

      “I think there was some promise of making me scream,” Dean feigns a yawn and raises one eyebrow.

      “You asked for it.” Sam jumped from the bed, leaving the mattress and Dean bouncing on old springs from the abrupt movement. When Sam returned, he had the bottle of personal jelly they picked up earlier today. The stuff Dean had was fine to use for hand jobs and in a pinch anal, but if they were going to be doing this regularly—and Sam did want this on the regular—they needed something a bit thicker. The jelly was apple scented and didn’t have much of a flavor. It was also safe to consume in small doses, which was the prevailing reason Sam had selected this bottle over the various other options. “Anyone ever give you a rim job, Dean?” He popped the cap and crawled between his brother’s legs.

      Dean snickered but flushed down to his collar bones, clearly a little surprised. “I once hooked up with a girl who told me, 'that’s some wifey shit.' So, no, no one’s ever eaten my ass.”

      Sam has wiggled down to his stomach so that he’s face-first in his brother’s ass. He may have had ulterior motives when he offered to wash Dean this morning. “If you call me wifey later I’m punching the molars out of your head,” he warns but then attaches his mouth to the tightly furrowed hole in front of him.

      Any snarky come-back from Dean has been sucked out of him immediately. The muscles in his thighs tighten but his head drops back, Adams apple jumping. “Nnn,” he tries for a response but then Sam adds his tongue to lap at the outer ring of muscle and all Dean can do is grip the wire headboard above his face.

      Meanwhile, Sam firmly digs his fingers into the globes of his brother’s ass, kneading the muscle and keeping him pulled apart. His thumbs are dangerously close to Dean’s rim on either side but he knows Dean isn’t ready for his fingers yet. He wants his brother boneless, doped up on his tongue, and stretched enough to take his dick by the time he’s done. He sucks on the slowly loosening opening and tongues around the outside with wide strokes. Sam can’t help but moan when he starts to feel his older brothers leg shake.

      “Fuck,” Dean’s brows are knotted and his eyes are shut. He arches up and presses his face into his fist that’s still wrapped around the wire head board. “Sammy, what are you—” he can’t finish that sentence because as he sighs his brother’s name Sam pushes his tongue inside and darts out only to repeat the motion. Dean groans and goes taut. 

      Sam pulls back long enough to kiss the inside of the other man’s thigh. “Shh, relax Dean. I got you, just relax.” He soothed his brother with kisses and ran his left hand up the back of Dean’s thigh. His right hand worked the bottle of personal jelly and slicked up his fingers. He ducked back down and reapplied his tongue; it slid in with little resistance. Sam's lube-slicked thumbs began massaging Deans rim and the older man howled.

      “ _Holy fuck,”_ Dean all but sobbed and bit his own fist. His mind was whiting out in bursts, like lightning strikes in a storm. He had no idea something like this could feel so good.

      Sam moaned again, the noise muffled greatly by the motion of his tongue and lips. He slipped one slick finger in with his tongue and Dean took it greedily. He was hot and wet inside, already somewhat stretched out by Sam's tongue.

      “What are you  _doing?_ ” Dean’s voice was deep and shattered and it looked like he might pull apart the bed frame any minute now.

      “Do you like it?” Sam asked after replacing his tongue with two fingers. His voice is a weird mixture of heated and petulant, like only a brother and a lover could be. "C'mon, big bro, you like me licking you out?"

      “Holy shit," Dean arched his back and straightened his legs until his toes cracked. “Yea, yea, I like it, Sammy, shit.” He blinked a few times, trying to focus his vision.

      “You’re already taking two fingers. You need to take a few more before you’re ready, though.” Sam scissors his digits and it makes Dean's stomach flip. Or, maybe, it's the implication that he was getting ready to take his brothers dick instead of his tongue or fingers that did it.

      The younger hunter added more of the thick lubricant to his ring finger and worked it in next, meeting more resistance this time. “Hmm, let me in, Dean. That’s it,” Sam moved his mouth up to his brothers neglected erection. It was hard and proud, straining against his stomach and it jerked when Sam got his lips on it. Sam continued to work his three fingers in and out, slowly, not in any hurry, while he lazily sucked his brother’s dick.

      “ _Oh_ ,” Dean’s eyes flew open. He had all but forgotten about his dick, which is something he never would have thought was possible, and now he had Sam’s mouth wrapped around it. He looked down, bending somewhat awkwardly, to watch Sam slowly pull his mouth up and down over his erection. Sam sucked on him sloppily, with light pressure and a lot of tongue and saliva. 

      Sam looked up and caught his brother watching. He shifted slightly so that Dean could see farther down, where his fingers were being swallowed by his lubed ass. He heard the choke from his older brother and the muscles around his fingers fluttered. Sam swooped down and brought his mouth back to Dean’s hole, lapping and nipping at the open rim. “One day I’m going to get you off just like this, just with my tongue and my fingers.” He screwed his tongue in quickly and pulled back. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll lick you open all night until you come on my tongue.”

      “Christ, Sam.” The older man rolled his face to the side and into a pillow. He would  _not_ be yelling loud enough for Bobby to heard them downstairs.

      “God, you’re so fucking hot. You have no idea Dean, you make me crazy.” Sam separated himself from his brother long enough to work his shirt off quickly and efficiently.

      Dean watched his brother strip a little glassy-eyed. He wasn’t as nervous as before. Sam had lit him up from the inside, burning away everything but this hungry arousal. He reached down between his legs and felt around the wet, stretched hole his brother worked open with his tongue and fingers. He slipped one of his own fingers in on a whim and gasped when it went easily.

      Sam groaned deep and feral from across the bed, now kicking away his pants. “Fuck, yea Dean touch yourself for me. Feel how wet and loose you are.” He stroked himself with a lube-slicked hand and added   _masturbate to Dean fingering himself_ to his sexual-bucket list.

      The older Winchester blushed furiously, but he was too turned on to care about shame by this point and dug his finger in deeper. He was hot and soft, just like Sam had been when Dean had been inside his brother. God, that had been amazing. He wanted to give that to Sam, let his baby brother ride him rough and take anything he wanted. “C'mon, Sammy, I want to see if my little brother knows how to use that thing.” He quirks an eyebrow at the other man's erection. 

      “I want you on your back,” Sam growled and crawled forward. “Is that OK?”

      “Yea, just…go slow, alright?” Dean breathed, a little wide-eyed. 

      Sam moved a pillow under his brothers hips and leaned over Dean’s body. “Of course, whatever you want.” Dean watched with fascination as his left leg was raised over his brothers shoulder and he was bent in half. He had never been folded like this before. There must have been some surprise on his expression because in the next second Sam’s worried face was hovering above him asking, “Is this comfortable?” He stroked the meaty length of Dean’s thigh, smoothing down the soft hairs there. Sam’s lubed cock is laying heavily between Dean’s spread legs, rubbing against the wet, sensitive skin there.

      “Yes, actually.” Dean settled back against the mattress, feeling comfortable and safe. “Kiss me,” and Sam does. It should be weird, with Dean’s leg saddled over his brothers shoulder and next to his own face, but it’s not. Instead it feels intimate, more intimate than any kiss he’s experienced before. When Sam slips his tongue inside Dean’s mouth he nudges his hips forward and his wet cockhead slides against Dean’s hole.

      Dean gasps around Sam’s tongue and then they’re both moaning, deepening the kiss while Sam grinds against his older brother. He’s still loose and open from Sam’s attentions earlier and if Sam just used a little more force, now—The older hunter growled, impatient and desperate, and bucked against the slick hot line of his brother’s erection. “ _Sam,_ Sammy,” Dean swung his head to the side and gasped for breath.

      “Yea, yea,” the younger man agreed without needing further explanation. He wriggled one arm between them and held his dick steady as he pushed in. He watched Dean’s expression as he breached him, watched as Dean winced and stiffened, but then exhaled and let him in. It was perfect. “God, Dean, you’re fucking beautiful.”

      “Shut up,” Dean choked, unable to accept the weight of his brother’s stare, the overwhelming pressure of his dick sliding in, and the verbal praise. The initial penetration doesn't hurt as badly as he thought it might; Sam must have done a good job of stretching him open. Instead it feels overwhelming, like his brother’s dick has driven all the air out of his body. He feels exposed, open on every nerve, and caught like wounded bird under his brother’s paw.

      “You’re beautiful,” Sam insists and drops his pelvis, feeding the last few inches of his length into the other man. In this position, Sam has access to all of his brother, his neck and chest and mouth. He mauls Dean’s throat as he pumps into him slowly, hellbent on marking him up. “You’re beautiful and your mine, fuck, you’re mine.” He dug his left hand into Dean’s thigh and pulled his brother back, into his thrusts.

       Dean’s mouth hangs open on his next moan as he is reminded of his younger brother’s strength. He can see the muscles cord in Sam’s thick arms, heavy with power as he hauls him back on his dick. “Yea, Sammy” he sounds breathless and tosses his head back again. He likes being man handled, likes knowing his brother can throw him around and take what he wants. His face burns, tingles, with arousal and mild embarrassment even as his dick drools against his stomach.

      “You feel so good.” Sam buries his head in the juncture of his brother’s neck and shoulder and bites as he rolls his hips slow and deep.

      Dean slings his right leg around Sam’s waist and grinds his hips up into his brother’s honey-sweet rhythm. Even through all the prep and lubrication, Dean can feel the hot drag-slide of Sam’s dick plunging in and out. It makes him feel stupid, mindless, all he knows right now is this sensation—hooked on Sam’s big cock. He claws at Sam’s back and gasps, repeats his brother’s name like it’s the only word he knows. It might be the only word he knows by now. 

      “That’s it, fuck Dean. You’re perfect, look at you,” Sam sounds awestruck again as he drives forward in short, shallow little stabs of his hips that find Dean’s sweet spot and make him mewl. He drops one elbow next to his brothers shoulder and curls forward. Sam's abdomen is grinding against Dean's erection, slippery between them, and Dean is panting open-mouth right in Sam's face. The rest of the world doesn't exist outside of this moment.  

      “ _Ah,_ Sam, _”_ Dean sounds almost panicked. Pleasure is rising through his body, from his toes up into his stomach and across his face. Sam is grinding him into the mattress and the bed is wailing, sliding against the wood flooring. Dean is too far gone to care about the noise now and his hands fly up, gripping the metal bars again for leverage. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come—" he's frantic, eyes wide as he looks up his brother. 

       Sam is sweaty, hair damp and hanging in his face and his knees are slipping against the sheets. "I don't even have a hand on you," he groans into Dean's ear and licks it. "You're going to come just from me fucking you, not even a hand on you—" and Dean bites his lip so hard the skin breaks because he's coming, jerking madly under his brother and Sam just fucks him through it. "Fuck yes, yes Dean come on baby, fucking come for me." He keeps pumping his hips, close to losing it himself but not there yet...not while he's admiring Dean fuck himself on his dick all through his own orgasm. 

      Before Dean's eyes can refocus Sam straightens his legs, gets his knees under him again, and thrusts forward hard and deep enough that his brother gets pushed up the bed. Dean grips the bars tighter, grinding his teeth— "Sam, Sam I can't..." his body is over sensitive, on fire, he can barely breath. 

     Sam can hear his thighs slapping against Dean's ass and his own breath loud in his ears. Dean is hot and loose, totally fucked out and pliant from his orgasm and Sam wants to  _take._ "Need me to stop, Dean?" He's at the cusp of losing his goddamn mind and blowing his load, but if his brother said stop Sam would rather burn up than disobey. He slows down, drawing shallow circles with his dick that hits the other man’s prostate.

      Dean sobs and his half hard erection twitches, "no, don't stop—I,  _fuck fuck fuck fuck."_ Dean turns his face into his own arm and bites it, the only thing he can manage to stave off the screams because Sam is going to fuck through him and this bed and into an early grave.

      Sam squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts into Dean as hard as he can, knows his beautiful, ferocious brother can take it and moans, "You're so open for me, taking it so good." Sam pistons his hips six times before he feels Dean shaking beneath him. He thinks he might really have to stop, maybe Dean can't take anymore, and opens his eyes. Sam looks down at his brother and watches Dean tighten his arms, brace himself against the headboard. There's a strange wince on the older man's face as a strangled moan flies out of Deans helplessly parted mouth and Dean is coming again, clenching around Sam’s cock for the second time. Sam shouts, buries his head in Dean's neck and comes so hard he almost takes them both off the bed. 

      Seconds, minutes, days go by with Sam collapsed on top of his brother. They’re both heaving, sticky with sweat and lube and Dean’s come all over them. The older man tries to stretch, pull his face away from all the body-heat and the overwhelming scent of sex, and Sam lazily kisses the exposed line of his throat.

      “Holy shit,” Sam huffs.

      Dean laughs, but it's strained. Sam is still inside him, his leg is twisted next to his own ear, and suddenly things aren’t as comfortable anymore. “Yo, move. I’m not a pretzel.”

      Sam grins slowly, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, “you coulda fooled me.” He puts more weight on his knees and gently pulls out. He’s exhausted, but keeps his eyes on his brother who gingerly lowers his leg. He can see the slick shine on Dean’s thighs and over his hole, not all of it lube. Dean caught him staring and gave his brother a dirty look. In apology, Sam put on some shorts and got them a wet washcloth from the hall bathroom.

      “We should really wash the sheets tomorrow,” Dean grimaced as they got under the covers. Luckily, the comforter was thick and nothing seeped into the mattress.

      Sam was still feeling possessive. He slid up behind his brother and wrapped one arm around Dean’s waist and tangled their legs. It would probably be too hot to stay like this for long, but for now Sam needed to bury his nose in his brother’s neck and hold him close. He kissed the damp skin below Dean’s hairline, tasted salt. "Think Bobby heard us?"

      “Probably!” Dean cried somewhat hysterically. “We owe him one hell of a breakfast tomorrow.”

      “I’ll do the laundry if you cook.”

      Dean is quite for a moment, contemplating. He is the better cook. “You do the dishes, too.”

      “Deal.”

oXiiXo

      The next morning, Bobby eats his breakfast with a red face but he doesn't say anything. 

oXiiXo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!!  
> I hope you liked it!  
> I really meant to make this sex scene more romantic, but I think I just imagine the boys fucking like porn stars.  
> Sorry for any mistakes, no beta reader :)  
> If any of you read the Merlin series I'm writing, Destiny Undetermined, I'm publishing the last story in the series on the 29th.


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